Spark of Defiance
by TinnedSardonic
Summary: A chance discovery on a remote human colony foretells the return of an ancient threat to the galaxy. A lone soldier must rise to shoulder a burden greater than anything imaginable. ME1
1. Shakedown

**Chapter 1: Shakedown**

Against the diamond-studded blackness of space, the Arcturus Prime mass relay hung motionless in the void; a monolithic structure of aesthetic and engineering genius. At it's centre glowed a blue orb of dazzling brightness, the crowning jewel of the entire piece. Surrounding it was a metallic frame, cold and emotionless, but beautifully curved and softened along every edge. A pair of outstretched arms extended from the structure, reaching out into infinity.

Still dozens of kilometres away, but already dwarfed by the sheer scale of the relay, a single starship approached. The main body was sleek and smooth, with angular wings and engine arrays jutting from it's flanks. The ship's designation was proudly emblazoned on both sides:

SR1 – NORMANDY

As the small vessel swooped towards the relay, a bolt of electrical charge leapt out from the element zero core, playing over the black and white hull. As it did so, the ship hit the relay's corridor, dropping it's mass to practically zero. The laws of physics took hold and hurled the ship into the blackness.

* * *

At the helm of the small frigate, flight lieutenant Jeff Moreau's fingers danced across the cockpit's holographic interface. The view through the bridge's windows was a blue-shifted blur as the Normandy tore past entire star systems in the blink of an eye. Even if you could pick out an individual star in the miasma, it would be one you had already left far behind.

The pilot focused instead on the display in front of him; a projection of the Normandy and her target relay. Most pilots would be be content to leave the ship be during FTL flight and not worry about missing the relay by several thousand kilometres.

Jeff 'Joker' Moreau was not 'most pilots'.

"Brace for deceleration." He spoke into the ship's comm in a bored monotone; for a shakedown run, everything needed to be by the book, but that didn't make it any less dull. In a split second, the ship snapped back to sub-light speed, the blue outside fading into white – studded black.

Joker allowed himself a smirk of self-satisfaction before sighing resignedly and beginning a systems check, vocalising every tedious line for the benefit of procedure.  
"...Thrusters check, navigation check, internal emissions sink engaged. All systems online," he completed. "Drift – just under fifteen hundred K." He settled back in his seat, with another smug grin.

One of the bridge's other occupants spoke up from behind him, his voice distinctly non-human.  
"Fifteen hundred is good. Your captain will be pleased."  
Without another word, he turned and walked off towards the rear of the ship.  
"I hate that guy," Joker muttered, but not until the retreating figure was safely out of earshot.  
"Nihlus gave you a compliment," his co-pilot noted. "So you hate him?"  
Joker looked over at the speaker and replied hotly, "you remember to zip up your jumpsuit on the way out of the bathroom, Alenko? _That's_ good. _I_ just jumped us halfway across the galaxy and hit a target the size of a pinhead! So _that's_ incredible!" He turned back to the his display, setting the Normandy on a course away from the relay. "Besides, Spectres are trouble, I don't like having him on board," he added. "Call me paranoid."  
"You're paranoid," the Lieutenant shot back immediately, "the Council helped fund this project; they have a right to send someone to keep an eye on their investment."  
"Yeah, that is the _official_ story," Joker replied sceptically, "but only an idiot believes the _official_ story."  
The ship's executive officer spoke for the first time since entering the cockpit. "I don't like it either," he said grimly, "turian Spectres have more important business than babysitting Alliance crews on shakedown."  
"Right!" Joker exclaimed, holding up a finger in agreement, "we already have you and the Captain here for that; between the three of you, you could babysit for the entire fifth fleet. I'm telling you," he turned back to Alenko, "there's more going on here than the Captain's letting on-"

The ship's comm burst into life, the stern voice of the aforementioned captain echoing around the cockpit.  
"Joker, status report."  
The pilot hurriedly put on his professional voice before answering. "Just cleared the mass relay, Captain. Stealth systems engaged – everything looks solid."  
"Good. Find a comm buoy and link us into the network. I want mission reports relayed back to Alliance Brass before we reach Eden Prime."  
"Aye, aye, Captain," Joker acknowledged before adding, "better brace yourself, sir – I think Nihlus is heading your way."  
"He's already here, Lieutenant," the Captain said, a shade cooler than before. Joker noticed Alenko shaking his head at him in exasperation out of the corner of his eye. "Tell Commander Shepard to meet me in the comm room for a debriefing."

The comm shut off with an audible click. "You get that, Commander?" Joker asked.  
"I heard. Now I have to go deal with a ticked off CO." Joker felt a heavy hand pat his seat's headrest. "Nice work, Lieutenant."  
"Don't blame me!" Joker called over his shoulder as the officer strode away. He turned back to his display, tapping at the controls with a little more force than was needed for a holographic interface. "The Captain's always ticked off at _something_," he muttered to himself.  
"Only when he's talking to you, Joker."

* * *

Inside the Normandy's comm room, Nihlus Kryik stood studying various images on the holo display: a small space port, a vista of a sun setting above rolling hills, a vast field of crops. The colony on Eden Prime was relatively young in galactic terms, but the human inhabitants had made it into something special.

Behind him, the door hissed open and closed again. Nihlus turned to face the new arrival.  
"Commander Shepard."  
It was hard to describe individual humans in turian terms – they had differing skin tones and hair but that was all that most turians would notice. But certain other things carried across species. Shepard's eyes, deep set beneath a near-permanent frown, even now were coldly regarding him, studying, calculating. He stood perfectly straight, head up, not afraid to stand out or intimidate, but his shoulders were relaxed, arms hanging loosely by his sides. Unlike the Captain, who wore the Alliance's dress uniform, Shepard was clad in the standard fatigues, with the slight embellishment of a discrete pair of symbols on his chest:

N7. Code for the most highly proficient of Alliance special forces operatives.

Nihlus had spent a large part of his time in the last few months reading and re-reading the files he had requested from the Alliance military regarding the Commander. Even compared to his already-distinguished counterparts, Shepard had an impressive résumé: exemplary completion of the Alliance's special forces training program; specialist in covert reconnaissance and strike operations; great linguistic ability. The most intriguing part of the files had been the last entry, dated just over two years ago: 'Solo Operational Status: approved'. Nihlus had requested more information on that part and had been sent a two-word reply. He had elected not to pursue that particular line of inquiry. The years prior to that were telling enough, with details of successfully-completed missions, special commendations and more than a few records of official reprimands for insubordination and disrespect towards superior officers.

Shepard was, in short, everything he had been looking for.

"I'm glad you got here first; it will give us a chance to talk," Nihlus went on.  
"What about?" Shepard asked curtly.  
Nihlus began to pace back and forth. "I'm interested in this world we're going to – Eden Prime. I've heard it's quite beautiful."  
"If you like looking at plants," Shepard said flippantly, "sure. Why not?"  
"You disagree?" asked Nihlus.  
"It's a farming colony," Shepard replied uncaringly, "I've been to plenty: one's basically the same as any other."  
"But Eden Prime isn't the same, is it, Shepard?" Nihlus stopped pacing. "It's become something of a symbol for your people, hasn't it? Proof that humanity can not only establish new colonies across the galaxy, but also protect them."  
Nihlus turned back to the holo display. "But how safe is it, really?" he asked, partly to himself.  
There was a brief pause, and Nihlus got the feeling that the Commander was shrugging at his back.  
"As safe as any other colony in a cluster crawling with pirates and slavers."  
"Yes," Nihlus said thoughtfully, "you would know something about that, wouldn't you?"  
"Is there a point you're trying to make here?" Shepard asked, a mite of impatience in his voice.  
"Your people are still newcomers, Shepard," Nihlus declared, turning to face the Commander, "the galaxy can be a very dangerous place." He folded his arms across his chest, watching the human intently. "Is the Alliance truly ready for this?"

Shepard didn't reply at first, during which Nihlus fancied his perpetual frown deepened slightly. Before Shepard could say anything, the door opened again and Captain Anderson entered.  
"I think it's about time we told the Commander what's really going on," he said – was there a touch of resentment in his voice? The Captain had made it clear early on that he didn't appreciate leaving his second-in-command out of the loop. Still, it hadn't been Nihlus' call to make. He nodded to Anderson and addressed Shepard.  
"This mission is far more than a simple shakedown run."  
Shepard snorted derisively. "The entire crew's already figured that one out."  
"We're making a covert pick-up on Eden Prime," Anderson clarified, "that's why we needed the stealth systems operational."  
Shepard nodded. "What's the package?"  
"A research team on Eden Prime uncovered some kind of beacon during an excavation." Anderson explained, "it was prothean."

The protheans. The long-extinct race that had devised the mass relay network , the binding force behind galactic society. Without it, every race would still be stranded in their home systems, helplessly gazing up at the stars, but unable to reach out and touch them. Any discovery of prothean technology was a boon to the galaxy: something to be dissected with care to unlock any potential secrets that could-  
"We dig up prothean artefacts every other week, what's special about this one?"  
Shepard was apparently less enthused than most.

"As far as the research team has been able to figure out, this beacon is some sort of data storage and transfer device. It seems to be intact – possibly even still functioning." Anderson became more animated, visibly excited by the discovery. "What humanity found in the Martian ruins jumped our technology forward two hundred years. And that was just a small data cache - who knows what this beacon could tell us?"  
"Obviously, this goes beyond mere human interests, Commander," Nihlus interjected, "this discovery could affect every species in Citadel Space."  
Anderson nodded. "Eden Prime doesn't have the facilities to handle something like this. We're to take the beacon back to the Citadel for proper study."  
"And the Council sent a Spectre along for the ride to make sure we don't try and make off with it," Shepard amended, giving Nihlus a pointed look.

"Partly," Nihlus stated cryptically.  
"Nihlus isn't just here for the beacon, Shepard." Anderson lowered his voice, although there was no chance of their being overheard, "he's also here to evaluate you."  
There was a a tense pause. Shepard turned his head to look at Nihlus, who looked back, trying to gauge the Commander's reaction. Finally, Shepard spoke to Anderson.  
"I think I'd remember whatever it was I did to warrant a Spectre investigation, Captain."  
"I didn't say investigation, Shepard, "Anderson said patiently, "I said-"  
"Evaluation," Shepard finished thoughtfully, turning back to Nihlus, "for the _Spectres_?"  
"The Alliance has been pushing for this for a long time," Anderson said, "Humanity wants a larger role in shaping interstellar policy. We want more say with the Citadel Council."  
"The Spectres represent the Council's power and authority." Anderson pounded his fist into his open palm in emphasis, "if they accept a human into their ranks, it'll show just how far humanity has come."  
"You held off an enemy assault during the Blitz single-handed," Nihlus said appreciatively, "you showed not only courage but incredible skill. That's why I put your name forward as a candidate for the Spectres."

For the first time in the conversation, Shepard's expression changed as he lifted an eyebrow in surprise. "You did?"  
Nihlus nodded. "Few individuals have the skills we seek; I don't care what species you are, Shepard, I only care that you can do the job."  
Shepard's frown had reasserted itself. "It's not exactly the career move I had in mind-"  
Anderson interrupted him. "This isn't just about you, Shepard – humanity needs this. We're counting on you."  
Shepard nodded, though he looked far from happy. Although privately, from what he'd seen of the Commander so far, Nihlus doubted that Shepard had ever been in a state anywhere near 'happy' in his entire life.  
"So how will this work?" Shepard asked Nihlus, "I'm guessing you need more than a few character references."  
"I will need to see your skills for myself, Commander," Nihlus said, "Eden Prime will be the first of several missions together."

"You'll be in charge of the ground team when we reach the colony," Anderson said, "secure the beacon and get it onto the ship ASAP. Nihlus will accompany you."  
"Simple enough," Shepard observed. "Just give the word, Captain."  
"We should be getting close-"  
"Captain! We got a problem!"  
Captain Anderson glanced up at the sound of Joker's voice echoing around the comm room.  
"What's wrong, Joker?" he snapped.  
"Transmission from Eden Prime, sir, you'd better see this!"  
"Bring it up on screen," Anderson ordered. The three soldiers turned to the holo display. The idyllic fields of Eden Prime faded away.

The footage was choppy and blurred as whoever was holding the camera turned back and forth, ducking and rising. Only brief flashes were clear; armoured figures huddled behind rocky outcrops; dirt being thrown up by weapon impacts; at one point, a view of a clouded, red sky as the camera user was bowled over. An armoured man appeared in view, holding the camera steady, his voice obscured by the constant cacophony of gunfire in the background.  
"...-nder attack, tak-...-vy casualties, we-" the marine was thrown off balance by an explosion, "we need evac – they...-ut of nowhere! We ne-"  
The marine was cut off as he was struck in the face by a lucky shot, the grisly view of his shattered skull obscured by his blood spattering the camera. A shaking hand rose into view and dabbed at the lurid spray, managing only to smear it more thinly across the lens. The constant tumult of gunfire and shouted voices suddenly died away; the view on the display swaying back and forth until it settled on the cause.

Like the hand of a perverse god, a metallic vessel was descending from the crimson-tinged sky. Fiery tendrils of lightning leapt between a mighty set of appendages that stretched out, as if to take a hold of the planet and tear it to shreds. As the leviathan sank lower, an eruption of sound caused a burst of static to echo around the comm room. 'Sound' didn't do the sensation justice: deep enough to shake the bones and piercing enough to pain the ears.

The camera looked away, catching a fleeting glimpse of marines throwing down their weapons and running before the footage cut out.

* * *

A/N: Well, I guess I should say hello, welcome and thank you for reading my first (published) attempt at fanfic. This mostly started as a way to burn off some creative juices I had lying around and next thing I knew, I had eleven chapters done. So, I figured I might as well see if some fellow internet dwellers could get some enjoyment out of it.


	2. Paradise Lost

**Chapter 2: Paradise Lost**

Utopia, Eden Prime's mother star, was drifting idly towards the horizon, the encroaching dusk turning the sky shades of red. Sickeningly fitting for the events of the afternoon thus far.

The attack had come fast and vicious – no warning, no time to prepare defences or evacuate the civilians. Against pirates or slavers, they might have stood a chance as they slowed to pick over the loot. But these invaders had come with a singular purpose in mind.

The assault rifle in Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams' arms bleeped as the 'sink vented the built-up heat. She stepped out of cover, raising her now-deadly-again weapon, only to see the sprawled and bloodied corpses of the rest of her squad, and their killers swivelling in the air to face her. Two drones dropped before they could target her, sparking from bullet impacts, and the third managed only a pair of shots that spent themselves harmlessly against her hardsuit's shields before crashing down into a mangled heap.

Ash lowered her rifle, breathing heavily. For a moment, she was torn: if she could get to her comrades fast enough, she _might_ be able-

A second drone swarm that came barrelling up the trench forced that decision. Cursing under her breath, she swept the rifle up and started firing – only to be cut short by the weapon's temperature gauge's infuriating bleeping. Although a few more muttered curses helped her prevent herself from beating the rifle into a ploughshare, it did nothing to radiate the heat faster, so she turned around, clipping the gun onto it's holster on the back of her hardsuit, and ran.

A shot punched through her shields and clipped her armour, sending her staggering. In a burst of stubborn defiance, Ash threw herself down, twisting as she fell and snatching her sidearm from her hip. After a short frenzy of wild shooting and possible divine intervention, the final drone slammed into the dirt at her feet, scattering it's mechanical innards across her. Before she had time to even catch her breath, a pair of the enemy footsoldiers marched into view. She scrambled to her feet, brought her pistol to bear... and hesitated as she saw what they were doing.

Between them, they were carrying the body of the Lieutenant, lifeless feet dragging along the ground. They had stripped the man of his armour, leaving his bullet-wound-ridden torso bare. They laid the corpse on a squat mechanical device and held it there, unmoving.  
_'What is-'_

A fearsome spike leapt up from the device, spearing the Lieutenant's body and hoisting it into the air amidst a spray of gore – and a protracted groan of agony.

For a horrified few moments, Ash could only watch the stricken man's twitching slow and eventually stop. The enemies turned to look at her, a pair of bright, cyclopean eyes regarding her coldly. Completely emotionless. Already shaken, she lost her nerve and ran. A rocky outcrop reared out of the ground before her. She spun around behind it, gasping from fatigue. For a moment only, thoughts of further flight flitted across her mind-  
'_No, dammit!_' she scolded herself, '_a Williams has to be better than the best!_'  
With renewed fervour, she grabbed her rifle and pulled the stock into her shoulder. She edged out from behind her cover... and threw herself back as a hail of projectiles slammed into her shields.

The resounding crack of a gunshot from behind her made her flinch. She dropped to one knee and swung her rifle up, sweeping it back and forth across the treeline behind her. A second shot rang out, followed by a shout.  
"Friendlies coming out!"  
A pair of armoured marines emerged from the treeline, moving quickly across the open ground towards her. One had the red stripe of an officer down one arm and across his helmet, a heavy sniper rifle cradled in his arms.  
"Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams of the two-twelve," Ashley reeled off as they reached her. "You the one in charge here sir?" she asked the red-emblazoned marine.  
"Commander Shepard, SSV Normandy," the officer replied, voice distorted by the helmet's loud speakers. "Alenko," he snapped to his subordinate, "eyes out." The other marine nodded and moved out from behind the rock to keep watch.  
"Sitrep," Shepard ordered brusquely.  
"We... We were... oh man..." Ash tailed off as she realised she was practically trembling from the combination of adrenaline and relief.  
"Take a deep breath, marine," Shepard advised her.  
"Sorry sir," Ashley shook herself. "We were patrolling the perimeter when the attack hit," she recounted, "we tried to get off a distress call, but they cut off our communications. I've been fighting for my life ever since."  
"And the rest of your unit?" Shepard asked.  
"We tried to double back to beacon, but we walked straight into an ambush." Ash cringed with guilt; it had been the most obvious set-up and she'd let them stroll straight into it like green privates fresh out of Basic. "I don't think any of the others... I think I'm the only one left."  
Shepard simply nodded. "We're here for the prothean beacon that was dug up," he said, "do you know where it is?"  
"It should still be at the digsite, just at the far end of this trench," she jerked a thumb over her shoulder.  
Shepard nodded again. The sliver of face visible through his helmet studied her for a moment. "If you're okay to head back in, Chief, I've got a man down and could really use the extra gun."  
"Aye, aye, sir," Ash replied. "It's time for payback," she added venomously.  
"Then move out, I've got point."

They had barely gone twenty yards when Shepard signalled a halt. He casually walked over to one of the downed enemy footsoldiers and flipped it onto it's back with his boot. The armoured chestpiece had a neat hole punched clean through it where the Commander's shot had impacted. The thing had two arms, two legs and a head, but that was where any similarity to humans ended: the limbs were made up of bundles of tightly-packed synthetic fibres, reminiscent of an organic being's muscles. Sleek, curved metal plating covered the inflexible parts of it's body. The 'head' consisted of nothing but a single hooded eyepiece.

Shepard knelt next to the deactivated machine, examining it closely.  
"You two know your galactic history?" he asked.  
"Geth," Ash answered.  
"A plus and a gold star, Chief," Shepard commented, reaching out to twist the machine's 'head' on it's neck. The enigmatic synthetic lifeforms were testament to the dangers of A.I.. The quarian race had been victims of near-complete genocide when their machine slaves had turned on them. The same cold logic and utter thoroughness that made computers such useful tools had also made them relentless executioners.  
"The geth haven't been outside the veil in nearly two hundred years," the Lieutenant said, "why are they here now?"  
The Commander poked a finger into the bullet hole in the geth's chest. It came back covered in a white, viscous liquid. Synthetic blood?  
"They must have come for the beacon," Ash suggested.  
"Agreed." Shepard stood, wiping his finger on his leg, "let's keep moving."

The digsite was based around a now partially-buried prothean structure, uncovered during excavations for the new monorail network. They approached cautiously, stepping over the bodies of Ash's squadmates. It took all of her force of will to keep her eyes up, focused along the sights of her rifle as she scanned left and right. She wouldn't be caught out agai-  
A gunshot disrupted her train of thought.  
"Contact front!" Shepard called out as he dropped to one knee. A flurry of shots hit the dirt around him, which he appeared to disregard entirely as he fired a second shot. Up ahead, Ash could see the angular stone construction that was the prothean ruin - as well as the group of geth troopers that were entrenched there, taking cover behind the discarded excavation equipment.  
'_Payback time_,' she thought.

She knelt and began firing, short, sharp bursts to maximise the capacity of the rifle's heat sink. One burst struck one of the geth trooper's shields, forcing it back into cover. Almost simultaneously, a second trooper swung out from behind a stone pillar and began firing directly at her. One shot was deflected by her shields and the rest flew high as she dropped to a prone position. She brought her rifle to bear, but the geth was already falling to the ground, a chunk of it's armoured chest blown straight through.  
"Move up!" Shepard barked, lowering his rifle, rising to his feet and sprinting across the open ground to a rocky outcrop. Ash picked herself up and followed him, coming to a halt next to him as he collapsed his sniper rifle and clipped it to the holster on his back, swapping out for his assault rifle.  
"Shield check," he prompted her.

"Charging," she reported.  
Shepard looked over at where Alenko was crouched behind a stone pillar on the far side of the trench.  
"Lieutenant! Deploy tech!"  
The Lieutenant nodded and brought up his omni-tool. After a few seconds' work he tossed a grenade around the corner and into the digsite.

The Lieutenant's tech-grenade landed at the feet of one geth trooper and detonated. It's shields flared up haphazardly for a moment and it's weapon let out a harsh tone as it registered a malfunction. Before it could react, Shepard swept around the corner and put a trio of shots through it's chest. Ash followed Shepard in, watching his left. A geth trooper rose up from behind a storage crate, drawing a bead on the Commander. Before it could get a shot off, a long burst from Ash's rifle stripped away it's shields and hurled it to the ground. They quickly swept the rest of the digsite, but it was empty. Completely.

"The beacon was right here," Ash said, gesturing at the lowered basin the beacon had been nestled in, "it must have been moved."  
"By who? Our side or the geth?" the Lieutenant asked.  
Ash shrugged. She hadn't been to the dig site since yesterday. "Hard to say," she answered, "maybe we'll find out more at the research camp."  
"Could anyone still be alive?" Shepard asked.  
"If they were lucky." 'L_uckier than we were._' "They might have gotten a chance to hide."  
"Let's move, check your targets."

"It's a good place for an ambush – keep your guard up."  
The Lieutenant's advice was sound: the ramp up to the camp offered no cover at all, but they needn't have worried – the only things moving were the flames still dancing in some of the shot-up prefabs. The odd body was sprawled here and there, but many had been placed on more of the spiked devices the geth had set up. Some of those didn't have gunshot wounds.  
"Impaling victims instead of just shooting them," Ash muttered to herself in disgust, "there must be some reason behind it."  
"Classic psychological warfare," Alenko said, a little too levelly for Ash's taste, "they're using terror as a weapon."  
Without warning, one of the spikes suddenly retracted itself into it's tripod base, leaving it's gristly payload just lying there. Ash slowly lowered her rifle.  
"What-"  
An electric crackle cut her off and the corpse jerked.

And stood up.

For a moment, the body just stood there, paying no heed to the horrified marines. It slowly became aware of them and turned to face them.

The first thing they noticed was it's eyes: burnt out by whatever force the spikes employed, some... juices still caked around it's eye sockets, the skin beneath greyed by the draining of it's blood, leaving the corpse a dried-out husk. The eyes had been replaced by eerie cybernetic replicas that glowered unblinkingly. Although the body was still shrouded in the clothes it had been wearing scarce hours ago, there were rips and tears where further cybernetics had been forcibly implanted into the flesh.

The husk let out a horrific cry, the unholy matrimony of a howl and a moan, and charged at them, arms reached out towards it's prey. Shepard was the first to react and put a bullet through it's chest. His sniper rifle was designed to punch through kinetic barriers and armour alike, so the desiccated flesh put up no resistance. But even as the impact knocked it from it's feet, it scrabbled at the earth beneath it, trying to right itself. A burst from Ash's rifle shattered the husk's skull and it went down, cutting of it's awful scream.

Before they had time to breathe, another spike lowered it's occupant to the ground.

The others quickly followed suit.


	3. Revelations

**Chapter 3: Revelations**

"Well, now we what those spikes are for." Alenko had removed his helmet to take a swig from his canteen; using biotics on any scale above minute was exhausting. He swallowed and finished his sentence. "Turning our own dead against us."  
The ground was strewn with the destroyed husks; most riddled with bullets, a few mangled by the Lieutenant's biotics. Ash hadn't been expecting the husk that had gotten through her fire to suddenly pin-wheel away from her in a blue-shifted aura and bowl over two of it's fellows.

Shepard walked over to where the two of them were standing. He still had a red-and-grey smear on his helmet from where he'd actually _headbutted_ one of the husks that had gotten in close and shrugged off a blow from his rifle. Ash would never have believed it if she hadn't seen it: as tough as she knew she was, she didn't think she'd ever be ready to lock skulls with the walking dead.  
"Nihlus is waiting for us at the spaceport," Shepard told them.  
"Our backup?" Ash asked.  
"Of sorts," Shepard replied, "he's a turian Spectre. Along for the ride."  
"A _Spectre_? The Council sent a Spectre here?"  
"Yup," Shepard replied, "they were worried we might strain ourselves picking up the beacon." He hefted his rifle in his arms. "I've got point, move out."

* * *

The geth troopers were on the hunt.

The broken remains of several drones littered the ground in front of them, perforated by gunfire. The trio of troopers spread out, advancing across the open ground towards the treeline that the shots had come from. One of the troopers brushed a foot against one of the destroyed drones, which beeped.

The mine concealed in the drone wreckage went off, blowing the unfortunate trooper apart where it stood, chunks of twisted metal and white synthetic fluid fountaining into the air. One of the other troopers was thrown to the ground, shields overloaded, one arm trailing uselessly at it's side. The final geth dropped to one knee, scanning the treeline before it, leaving it unprepared for the trio of shots that hit it in the flank. The remaining trooper managed to struggle to it's feet before a second burst threw it back to the ground.

For a minute or so, nothing moved. Then Nihlus emerged from behind the tree he had been secreted behind and dashed across the open ground. The geth had been guarding the local monorail hub that connected the digsite to the spaceport. He stealthily advanced up the steps that led to the raised platform, stopping short of the summit to listen to his surroundings. Not that the synthetic geth made more noise than they meant to.

He rose above the stair's handrail, scanning left and right with his rifle. The platform was strewn with bodies; most likely colonists who had hoped that the monorail would give them a quick escape from their killers. Nihlus walked out onto the platform, carefully stepping over some bloodied remains. As he did so, a figure rounded the corner from the ramp that led down to the monorail track. Without breaking stride, Nihlus ducked behind a low wall and listened as heavy footsteps drew nearer, then stopped.

Nihlus gave himself a slow count of three before swinging out, rifle raised. As he'd hoped, the figure had turned it's back on him, but it wasn't a geth trooper. It was turian. What would a turian be doing on a human colony world? Especially one in the grip of an attack from murderous synthetics. Nihlus lowered his rifle and made to call out, but he hesitated as he realised that this turian was familiar.  
"Saren?"  
The turian turned to face him. His face was bare of the markings that turians routinely wore. Normally, that would have raised Nihlus' suspicions, but this turian was known to him. Saren Arterius: the Council's top Spectre agent and Nihlus' old mentor. He was the reason Nihlus had been given a shot at the Spectres, and wasn't currently languishing in a turian military correctional facility.  
"Nihlus," Saren replied silkily, walking over to where Nihlus stood.  
"This isn't your mission, Saren," Nihlus said suspiciously, "what are you doing here?"  
"The Council thought you could use some help on this one," Saren replied, briefly gripping the younger turian's shoulder reassuringly before moving over to one side, apparently inspecting one of the many corpses scattered around.

Nihlus eyed him doubtfully. With so few Spectres in existence, it seemed... unlikely at best that the Council would sent one of their best to oversee another agent's operation. And given Saren's outspoken views on humanity, it was even less likely the Council would have selected him for this one in particular. It was far more probable that Saren had his own reasons for being here. And if he didn't want to tell Nihlus, it wouldn't be anything the junior Spectre liked. Whatever his reasons, he was at least a friendly face.  
"I wasn't expecting to find the geth here." Nihlus looked out over the lush landscape, blighted by plumes of dark smoke backlit by the crimson sky. "The situation's bad."  
"Don't worry," he heard Saren say, "I've got it under control."

* * *

The trio of marines hadn't met a soul en-route to the tram station. Not even a synthetic one. As they approached, Shepard made a signal and they dropped to the ground, worming their way through a patch of long grass to a small hillock overlooking the station. As they did so, the distant sound of a gunshot echoed up to them from the station. Shepard surged forward to the summit and began scanning the station through his rifle's scope.  
"Looks clear" he muttered as Ash joined him. "Wait..."  
A movement caught his eye; a humanoid figure walking towards the monorail track. Even from this distance, there was no mistaking the head crest. A turian.  
"Commander?" Ash prompted him.  
"Nihlus," Shepard explained, rising to his feet, "let's get down there."  
They hadn't gone two paces before Alenko called out, "what it that? Off in the distance!"  
It was immediately apparent what he was referring to: the cold, metallic shell that protruded from the horizon beyond the monorail platform.  
"It's a ship!" Ash exclaimed, "look at the size of it!"  
"That's impossible," Shepard said, "nothing that big can-"  
He was cut short by a deep rumble that shook the ground beneath their feet, followed by a wall of sound that washed over them, making them all flinch. Before their eyes, the monolith started to rise into the air. As it rose, tendrils of red lightning leapt down from the mighty appendages that hung from it's underside, striking the ground beneath it.  
"Care to repeat that, sir?" Ash asked the Commander.  
"Bloody hell," was Shepard's only, awestruck, response.

Ash's lips tightened at the sight of yet more bodies scattered around the tram station. It looked like they had been running for the tram when they had been gunned down. Shepard was leading, picking his way over the corpses without sparing them a second look. Ash tried to keep her head up, but couldn't help but steal glances as she passed them no matter how worried she was that she'd recognise the next one.

One of the bodies was different to all the others. It was wearing a combat hardsuit and had a discarded weapon lying next to it, but that was the least of the differences.  
"Your turian friend?" Ash asked the Commander as Alenko knelt next to the alien's corpse, examining the gaping wound in the back of it's head.  
Shepard nodded. "It was," he replied grimly. Then he frowned and looked away, towards the track. "If Nihlus was here, then wh-"  
His query was cut off by a heavy thump from behind a pile of cargo containers laid haphazardly on the platform.  
"Wait, don't shoot!" a panicked voice cried out, "I'm one you! I'm human, my name's Powell! Don't shoot!"  
"Get out here!" Shepard barked, rifle still trained at the source of the noise, "now!"  
A trembling human stepped out from behind the crates, arms raised. The marines lowered their weapons.  
"You okay?" Shepard asked roughly.  
"Yeah," the man said, "yeah, I was hiding back here when those... those things arrived and..." He trailed off, casting an uneasy look at the scattered bodies.  
"Lucky you," Shepard commented dispassionately. He gestured to where Nihlus' corpse was crumpled on the platform. "Did you see what happened to him?"  
"Yeah, I did!" Powell replied. "The other turian shot him."  
"What other turian?"  
"There were two turians here, your friend and another he called Saren, it was like they knew each other."  
"What would a turian be doing on Eden Prime?" Alenko asked.  
"You sure about this?" Shepard asked Powell.  
"Yeah, yeah, I swear! That one – er, Nihlus – he let his guard down, then... then Saren shot him. Right in the back."  
"Hmmm," Shepard droned doubtfully, "alright. You know anything about the prothean artefact they dug up recently?"  
"No, not really. They took it the spaceport from here this morning. That's all I know."

"Right, let's move," Shepard said. "Stay low and don't spook any of the marines when they arrive," he advised Powell, who nodded and tucked himself back into his hiding place. The Commander led them towards the tram line.  
"We need to find this 'Saren'," Ash said. '_And make him pay_,' she added in her mind.  
"Mission takes priority, Chief," Shepard said sharply, "that beacon is too important. Tracking down one turian out of the entire galaxy is a job for Intelligence."  
"So we just let him get away?" Ash demanded angrily.  
"For now, we do," Shepard replied simply. He stepped onto a waiting tram. "All aboard," he said as he punched the controls and the tram slid out of the station.

* * *

It was only a short ride to the spaceport. The lack of any further geth resistance was starting to fray Ash's nerves – she'd feel so much better if she had something to shoot at. The tram slid up to the spaceport platform and drew to a halt with a hiss. They were barely stepping onto the platform when the air was suddenly filled with hypersonic slugs that ricochetted off their shields.

"Cover!" Shepard barked as he turned, knelt and aimed and fired his rifle in one smooth motion.  
'_Easier said than done_,' Ash thought to herself. The platform was below the level of the spaceport proper, and there was only a flimsy guardrail to hide behind. Apparently realising this for himself, Shepard fired off a second round and shouted again.  
"Up the stairs! Move!"  
The Lieutenant led the way, racing up the stairway to the main level and ducking behind a convenient shipping container. Williams heard the crack of the Commander's rifle for a third time as she followed suit. Seconds later, Shepard swung around the corner and flattened himself against the container.

"Shield check," Shepard said, heedless of the pinging of bullets off the container.  
"I'm green," Ash replied.  
"Charging, green in six," the Lieutenant supplied.  
"Right," the Commander said, "I got eyes on four geth - call it a squad, down by two, so assume at least six hostiles. Lieutenant, you two flank right, move in close and bring the biotics into play; I'll break for that cover and suppress them from there, any questions?"  
Ash looked in the direction the Commander nodded in. The twisted and charred wrecks of more shipping containers lay on the ground, more than twenty metres away.  
"That's a lot of open ground, Commander," Ash said uncertainly.  
Shepard crouched down and laid his rifle aside. He took a grenade shell from his belt and snapped it into his omni-tool.  
"Well, I'll make it less open, then," he said, tapping on his omni-tool. He waited for a moment as the minifacturing module worked, assembling the required materials from the omni-gel reservoir in his hardsuit.  
"Ready?" he asked, scooping up his rifle with one hand and hefting the grenade in the other.

They nodded and Shepard tossed the grenade out into the open space between him and his cover. It hid the ground and detonated with a hiss, unleashing a cloud of thick smoke.  
"On my mark – move!" Shepard barked. He ran one way, Ash and the Lieutenant went the other. A low wall ran the edge of the lowered tram line. She and the Lieutenant ducked below the lip and moved along it, taking potshots as they went. Every so often, the constant zipping of the geths' shooting was punctuated by the resounding crack of Shepard's rifle.  
"_Hostile down_," Shepard's voice reported in her ear after one such crack.

They made it to the bridge that spanned the tram line. A bullet-ridden cargo hauler was parked up on it, the body of the driver hanging halfway out of the door. On the far side, the geth were entrenched behind a hastily-erected barricade of shipping crates. The Lieutenant turned to Ash.  
"I'll go first. Think you can cover me, Williams?"  
"You bet your ass, sir," she replied.  
Alenko nodded, then made a gesture with his hand. A blue-shifted aura shimmered into existence around him.  
"Okay," he said, "now!"  
He broke cover and darted for the hauler. Ash surged up and began firing. A geth trooper swung out from behind it's cover and drew a bead on the Lieutenant. Before it could let off more than two shots, Ash's first burst took it's shields down before the second punched through it's chest.  
"One down!" Ash called out vindictively as the synthetic fell back, spurting white liquid. Her shields buzzed as a second trooper popped up and began firing at her. She ducked down, but needn't have bothered, as a surgically-placed shot removed the geth's head.  
"_Make that two_," Shepard's voice said.  
Out on the bridge, Alenko had ducked behind the wrecked cargo hauler.  
"Commander, I'm in position," Alenko reported as he edged his way around the vehicle.  
"_Yank 'em, Lieutenant. On my mark,_" Shepard ordered.  
"Ready," the Lieutenant acknowledged.  
"_Mark_."

The Lieutenant stepped out from behind the stricken hauler and gestured with one arm. A blue-shifted orb of dark energy surged forth and enveloped the cover the remaining geth were crouched behind. With a grunt, the Lieutenant jerked his arm upwards and the shipping crates, along with two geth were pulled into the air. The crack of Shepard's rifle echoed around the spaceport as he picked one trooper out of the air. The second geth crashed to the ground, it's weapon falling away from it's grasp. Ash put a ruthless trio of shots through it as it lay helpless.  
"One hostile remaining, Commander," Alenko reported, panting slightly.  
"_I don't have a shot_," Shepard said, "_Chief, this one's all yours_."  
"My pleasure, Commander."  
She rested the barrel of her rifle on the top of the wall and waited. For a few moments, nothing moved, then a cyclopean head peered out from behind a crate. Ash squeezed the trigger three times rapidly. The first two shots ricochetted off the geth's shields; the third put it's eye out. It disappeared from view. There were a few moments of silence, broken only by the clattering of something coming to rest.

"I think we got them, Commander," Alenko said.  
"_Nice work, you two_," Shepard congratulated them. "_Move in_, _but stay alert_. _Kill anything that tries to get up_ – _I don't think the Rights of Sapient Beings applies here_."  
'_No argument from me_,' Ash thought.  
She rose up and trotted across the bridge, weapon raised. The Lieutenant had his helmet off again and was taking a sip from his canteen. He nodded at her as she passed him. Shepard walked over to join her as she put a just-in-case shot through a geth body that looked a little too intact for her liking.  
"Ready to move?" Shepard asked as Alenko joined them. "We still need to find that beacon."  
"Ready and willing," Ash replied.  
"Commander!" Alenko pointed at something. The others turned to look.

Shepard swore and ran over to the object of Alenko's interest; a squat electronic device the size of the shipping crates that lay scattered around them. He knelt next to it and swept his omni-tool over it.  
"Demolition charge," he said tersely, looking at the readout, "multi-kiloton range. Alenko, can you disable it?"  
"I think so," the Lieutenant said, crouching next to the bomb.  
"Gonna need a better answer then that, Lieutenant," Shepard said sharply.  
Alenko swept his own omni-tool over the bomb and tapped a few buttons, "yes."  
"Jump to it," Shepard ordered him, then stood up and stretched. "Well, that could have been awkward," he remarked to Ash, "would've been a shame to come this far and get blown up."  
"There's still time, Commander," Ash said, looking at the bomb uneasily.  
"No sense worrying about it now," Shepard replied, far too calmly for someone standing with their back to a bomb.

There was a click and a rapid beeping.

* * *

"Done," Alenko said, standing up.  
"That was quick," Ash said, trying to forcibly erase the memory of her jumping like a startled rabbit.  
"It was pretty rudimentary," Alenko replied modestly, "I doubt they were expecting anyone."  
"Alright, let's find that beacon," Shepard said, "if the geth were trying to cover their tracks, it must be nearby."

They found the beacon not far away, sitting on the edge of one of the docking bays. As with all prothean artefacts, it was aesthetically constructed, smooth, metallic surfaces and soft curves. The upright pylon was wreathed in an eerie green glow, projecting a similar green beam of light upwards into the atmosphere. That wasn't what held their interest at first, however.  
"My God," Ash said in disbelief, "it's like someone dropped a bomb."  
Beyond the beacon was a crater where a part of the spaceport had once been. It was so deep that it bottomed out against the bedrock beneath Eden Prime's thick soil. The rock was almost molten, glowing red-hot and making cracking noises as it cooled.  
"That must be where the geth ship landed," Alenko said hoarsely.  
"This is insane," Shepard said, "no ship that big can land groundside."  
"Big, smoking hole to disagree with you right here, Commander," Ash replied.  
Shepard gave her an aggrieved look through his visor, then said, "at least we got the beacon." He turned away and spoke into his helmet mic, "Normandy, this is ground team. Package is secure, requesting immediate evac..."

Ash followed Alenko over to the humming beacon. "This is incredible," the Lieutenant said in awe, "actual, working prothean technology – unbelievable!"  
"It wasn't doing anything like that when they dug it up," Ash said, eyeing the beacon suspiciously.  
Shepard called Alenko over and he left Ash standing with the beacon.  
"Something must have activated it," she said, mostly to herself. She took a few steps closer. She could hear something; the humming was actually a multitude of sounds, layered over one another.

She took another step.

The beacon let out a pulse of energy. Ash felt it wash over her, then tighten around her and start to drag her in. The humming grew louder and the sounds within it more distinct. She flinched and cried out as a blurred image flashed across her mind's eye. The beacon pulsed again and she felt herself pulled upwards this time. Another flash in her mind and her vision started to darken.

She felt an arm grab her around the waist and a hand on her shoulder. They dragged her back, away from the beacon and the humming in her ears dimmed. The beacon pulsed again, almost as if it was angry. It's pull on her redoubled. There was a grunt of exertion just behind her right ear and she felt herself swung around and thrown clear. A second pair of arms fielded her before she ended up falling to the deck. She struggled free and turned back to the beacon.

Shepard was wrestling to pull himself free from the beacon's draw. He managed to take a full, laboured step backwards before the beacon pulsed a final time and dragged him into the air, as if an invisible hand had clenched around his throat. His arms were wrenched out from his sides to level with his shoulders.  
"Shepard!" Ash went to grab him, but Alenko pulled her back.  
"Don't! It's too dangerous!"  
For a long fifteen seconds, Shepard just hung there, twitching against the force that held him as the humming rose in pitch and volume until it began to pain Ash's ears. Just as she was about to shrug off the Lieutenant and grab Shepard anyway, the beacon's hum broke into a fragmented howl and it exploded, scattering smoking debris over the dock. Rather than being hurled back by the blast, Shepard simply dropped to the ground and crumpled up without a sound.

Alenko released Ash and they both dashed to the Commander's side. Ash rolled him over and went to release his helmet. Alenko slapped her hands away.  
"Leave it," he snapped at her, before yelling into his helmet mic, "Normandy, this is ground team, we've lost the beacon and Shepard is down, we need evac now!"


	4. Debrief

**Chapter 4: Debrief**

_The galaxy had dissolved into a tumultuous haze._

_Images flitted across his mind's eye, but they came too brief, too disjointed to make any sense. Occasionally, one would stand out from the rest: a figure dropping to it's knees and gripping it's head, accompanied by a hideous scream; a wall of fire racing across a planet's surface, devouring all that stood against it; a host of dark silhouettes that blotted out the stars._

_And beneath it all, a pervading aura of dread; the chilled grip of Death at his throat._

_He reacted the only way he knew how. _

_The orange hue that tainted his sight began to brighten until it was piercing white..._ and died away to resolve itself into a single bar across his vision.  
"Doctor! Doctor Chakwas! I think he's waking up!"

He blinked, and the lightstrip above him came into focus. Then he screwed his eyes up against the brightness, feeling the dull ache on his face as the scar tissue on his cheekbone pulled tight.

He sat up, kneading his eyes with his fingers before taking a bleary look around.

He was in a medbay – the Normandy's medbay, he realised, noting the SR-1 designation on the wall. The ship's medical officer, Doctor Chakwas, was leaning over the bed he was sat on, peering at his face.  
"You had us worried there, Shepard," she remarked tenderly. "How are you feeling?"

With after-images still flashing across his vision and a feeling that his brain was indulging in a spirited attempt at DIY lobotomy he replied, "not that much worse than usual, Doc."  
She frowned at him, evidently disbelieving him. Before she could prescribe him a full examination he said, "what the hell happened? How long have I been out?"

"About fifteen hours," the Doctor replied, "something happened down there with the beacon, I think." She left the sentence hanging, angling for an explanation.  
"It's my fault," another voice said from his other side. He twisted around to look at Chief Williams, now clad in a set of fatigues and a guilty expression. "I activated some kind of security field when I got close to it," she explained, "you had to throw me out of the way."  
Shepard waved a hand dismissively. "Forget about it," he said bracingly, "no harm done."  
"I wouldn't say that, Commander," Williams said, guilty tone unalleviated.

Shepard sighed and lay back down on the bed. "Hit me," he said, running a hand over his scalp.  
"The beacon exploded; a system overload, maybe. The blast knocked you cold. The Lieutenant and I carried you back to the ship."  
Shepard sighed again. "Great."  
"I'd better let the captain know you're up," Williams said. Shepard heard her footsteps receding, then the door opening and closing.

"So Doc," he said lightly, staring up at the ceiling. "Give it to me straight: how long do I have left? Two weeks? A month?"  
"A good few decades at least, if I'm any judge, Commander," Chakwas replied firmly, "there's nothing to worry about. Although," the Doctor picked up a datapad and frowned down at it, "I did record some strange brain activity - unusual beta waves. I also saw an increase in your rapid eye movement – signs normally associated with intense dreaming."  
"I was," Shepard said slowly, trying to recall something other than the feeling of foreboding that still rankled in the back of his mind. He seldom remembered dreams, but the images came to him with unaccustomed ease. "There was..." _a humanoid figure writhing in pain,_ "death..." _a landscape in flames_, "destruction..." The Commander blinked and mentally shook himself. "You know," he added flippantly, "all the cheery stuff."  
"Hmm," the Doctor mused, "I'd better add this to my report, it may-" The door opened again. "Captain Anderson," she said.

Shepard sat back up and nodded to the Captain as he entered the room.  
"How's our XO holding up, Doctor?" Anderson asked. If he was concerned, he wasn't showing it.  
"All the readings look normal, I'd say the Commander's going to be fine," Chakwas replied in that clinical but reassuring manner all doctors possessed.  
"Glad to hear it. If you don't mind, I'd like to speak with him. In private."  
Chakwas nodded and left the medbay, tapping on her datapad.  
"Sounds like that beacon hit you pretty hard, Commander," Anderson started conversationally, "you sure you're okay?"  
Shepard took a moment to take stock, rolling his head around on his shoulders. The Captain was one of those old-fashioned soldier types – honourable, considerate of his command and able to crack skulls on his grit and nerve alone. There were maybe three people in the Alliance military who ranked higher than himself that Shepard respected utterly and he was related to one of them; Anderson was the second.

"I'm still breathing," Shepard shrugged. "Unlike some," he added grimly.  
"Jenkins wasn't your fault," Anderson reassured him, "you did a good job, Shepard."  
"Yeah. I know," Shepard said indifferently. The poor kid had been caught out of cover by the drone swarm that had come to investigate their drop. One volley of rounds had punched straight through his shields and that had been that: another day, another fallen comrade. "Is that why Chief Williams is here?" he asked, "keep the roster full?"  
Anderson nodded, "I figured we could use a soldier like her."  
"Good call," Shepard said, "I wasn't expecting much from a garrison marine, but she pulled through alright."  
"Lieutenant Alenko agrees with you," Anderson smiled, "he made the recommendation."

So," Shepard said after a brief pause, "what's the fallout, Captain?"  
Anderson's expression turned pensive as he spoke, "I won't lie, Shepard: it looks bad. Nihlus is dead, the beacon's destroyed and the geth are invading." Anderson sighed heavily, "the Council's going to want answers."  
"Fuck 'em," Shepard said contemptuously, "we don't answer to them."  
"You know it's not that simple, Commander."  
"We came _this_ close to losing an entire colony down there today," said Shepard, pinching his thumb and forefinger together for emphasis. "Again," he added in disgust before going on, "I'm not responsible for a Spectre's well-being. Or how well the protheans future-proofed their technology, for that matter."

Anderson nodded thoughtfully, unaffected by Shepard's steadfast tone. "I'll stand by you and your report, Shepard. You're a damned hero in my book. But that's not all that I'm worried about. It's Saren – that other turian."  
The Captain began to pace, his eyes losing focus. "Saren Arterius is a Spectre – one of the best. But if he's allied with the geth, then he's gone rogue.  
"A rogue Spectre's trouble. But Saren is dangerous. And he hates humans."  
Shepard snorted. "You say that like it's unusual."  
"True enough," Anderson conceded, "but most aliens don't do anything about it. Judging from what happened down there today, Saren is after something – and I bet it had something to do with that beacon."

The Captain stopped pacing and turned to Shepard. "You were there before that beacon self-destructed - did you see anything? Any clue that might tell us what Saren was after?"  
Shepard knuckled his forehead. "You could say that," he started hesitantly. "Just before I was knocked out, I had a... a vision, I guess..."  
Shepard had half-expected the Captain to laugh at him. The other half expected Anderson to call the Doctor in to administer a nice, strong sedative. But he took it as seriously as anything else.  
"A vision," he said, sounding more intrigued than incredulous, "a vision of what?"  
Shepard took a moment to recall some of the images branded across his vision.

_The flesh torn and ripped, the machine tightening it's grip, suffocating in an atmosphere of despair, erosion of consciousness-_

"I saw synthetics," Shepard said, his voice sounding distant to his own ears as he tore his mind away from the images, "geth, maybe? Slaughtering people, butchering them."  
The Captain eyed him for a moment. "We need to report this to the Council, Shepard."  
"They'll think I'm crazy," Shepard scoffed, shaking his head derisively, "forget it."  
"We don't know what information was stored in that beacon. Lost prothean knowledge – maybe for a weapon of some kind-"  
"Or maybe it was an ancient prothean vid-player," Shepard cut in sardonically, "maybe I've just watched the protheans' last big hit before they all went extinct."  
"Shepard," Anderson snapped, "this is serious: we don't-"  
"I know," Shepard interrupted him, holding up a hand, "I know, but if we blunder onto the Citadel and start raving about visions of killer synthetics, how seriously is the Council going to take it?"  
"Whatever it was in that beacon," Anderson said, "Saren took it," Anderson's expression darkened, "and if I know Saren, he won't rest until he's used it to wipe humanity from the face of the galaxy."

Shepard cracked his knuckles. "The stars'll burn out before I let that happen."  
"If only it were that easy," Anderson said bitterly. "Saren's still a Spectre; he can go anywhere, do anything."  
"Does he have a bulletproof skull?" Shepard asked scornfully.  
"He does have an army of geth at his command," Anderson reminded him coolly, "we need the Council on our side."  
Shepard sighed. "They won't listen to us," he said flatly, "they never do."  
"They have to," Anderson said, "they can't ignore this attack; it might as well have been an act of war.  
"We're en-route to the Citadel right now," Anderson said in a tone that suggested the informal part of this debrief was over, "I'll need a full report from you before we arrive."  
"Aye, aye, sir."

* * *

It was easier to think here.

Here, isolated in the depths. Only the gentle pulsing from the sterile metal around him, soothing his frustrated mind.

He let his head drop into the palm of his hand, willing the pictures, the sounds, the _sensations_ in his mind to resolve into the clarity he required.

But no. They denied him, the details twisting away from his grasp, eluding him.

More. He needed more.

"We identified the ship that touched down on Eden Prime."  
The voice was harsh and grating to his senses. It cut through the serene atmosphere he had been lost in.  
"The Normandy. A human Alliance vessel. It was under the command of Captain Anderson."  
The serenity started to fall away from around him, replaced by aching wrath.  
"They managed to save the colony."  
"And the beacon?" he heard himself demand, his own voice sounding guttural and broken. There was a pause before the answer came.  
"One of the humans may have used it."

Rage consumed him so suddenly, so overwhelmingly, that it seemed that the very air around him had erupted into incandescence. He could feel the blood pulsing in his veins, roaring in his head. To have come so far, so _close_ to his goal, to suffer complications _**now**_!

As abruptly as it had ensued, the anger abated; it ebbed and faded into cold, clinical resolve. As it did so, he became aware of a face scarce inches from his own, the head to which it belonged clutched in his hand, his fingers poised to crush the skull beneath his grip. The eyes that met his were devoid of any panic or fear. With great effort, he forced his hand open and down to his side.  
"This human," he said deliberately, "must be _eliminated_."

He turned away without waiting for a response, stalking over to his seat and slumping down again, head clasped in his hand. He bent his mind back to the omens he had been granted, falling back into a contemplative trance.

It was a minor setback. Nothing more.

He _would_ succeed. No matter the hindrance.

He would save them all. Whatever the sacrifice.

* * *

Half-an-hour later, Shepard was washed, dressed and putting the finishing touches to his report. He gave the report a last glance over before submitting it to the Captain. As he left the medbay with a nod to the Doctor, he yawned and rubbed at the stubble on his chin. It would probably be _proper_ of him to shave before he met the Council – so he wouldn't.  
"Hey Commander."  
Shepard glanced over at the speaker. Chief Williams had stood up from the mess table to walk over to him. He noticed that her dark hair was scrunched into a regulation bun that was somehow more severe and intimidating than the armour she had been wearing on Eden Prime.  
"Glad to see you're okay," she went on, "the crew could use some good news after what happened to Jenkins."  
"Losing people is never easy," Shepard agreed. "Especially on a first mission."  
"Part of me feels guilty over what happened," Williams admitted, "if Jenkins was still alive... I might not be here."  
Shepard considered her for a moment. He'd seen survivor's guilt a hundred times before – _why did they die and not me?_ – He was almost jealous, in a way: Jenkins had gotten killed while under his command and the one more torn up about it was the marine who'd never met him.  
"Jenkins' death was no-one's fault," Shepard asserted, "least of all yours. And believe me when I say the Captain isn't the type to pick up strays just to fill a gap in the roster. If you're here, it's because he thinks you're good enough." He paused before adding, "and so do I. You did a damn good job down there, Chief."  
"Thanks, Commander. That means a lot coming from you; I've never met someone who was awarded the Star of Terra."  
"Someone's told you who I am, I see," Shepard noted.  
"I worked it out," Williams corrected him, "- didn't exactly take a genius - but not until we came on board; didn't exactly have time to think down there."

"You can say that again." Shepard was no psychologist, but even he noticed the slight downturn in her voice and expression. "How are you holding up?" he asked, trying to file the hardened edge off his voice.  
Williams paused before starting awkwardly, "I've seen friends die before – comes with being a marine – but to see my entire unit wiped out... and you never get used to seeing dead civilians."  
Shepard decided not to comment on that point and merely nodded.  
"Still, things would have been worse if you hadn't shown up." Williams added.  
"Would've been a lot harder without you there, Chief," Shepard said. "Any problems, come lay them on me; I guess it'll be part of my job from now on in."  
"Thanks Commander," Williams said, "I have to say, I was a bit nervous about being assigned to the Normandy; it's nice when someone makes you feel welcome."  
"Do your job, do it well, don't piss off the Captain, and you'll fit in just fine here, Chief," Shepard advised her.  
"I'll bear that in mind, sir."

"All stations, secure for transit," Joker's voice came over the ship's intercom.  
"I should go; want to be on the bridge when we come into the Citadel," Shepard said, turning to leave.  
"Mind if I join you?" Williams asked.  
"Not at all," Shepard said, leading the way up the curved stairway to the CIC. The Normandy's main deck was a bustle of activity. This was still only the ship's second trip via mass relay, and it was a longer one than had been planned.  
"Good timing Commander, I'm about to bring us into the Citadel," Joker said as they reached the bridge. Alenko was back in the co-pilot's seat.  
"Just relax and watch those taxpayer credits at work."  
The Normandy dropped seamlessly out of FTL. The view out of the windows was obscured by a thick, blue-tinged fog.

"The hell?" Williams muttered.  
"It's the Serpent Nebula," Alenko explained, "the Citadel's in the middle."  
"Who's the new girl?" Joker asked, giving Williams a vaguely suspicious look.  
"Gunnery Chief Williams, Flight Lieutenant Moreau – call him Joker," Shepard introduced the pair. "And don't worry, Lieutenant," he added dryly, "she's not going to take your ship away from you."  
"I'd like to see her try," Joker pouted, running a loving hand across his console.  
"You sure about that?" Williams asked, walking over to loom over the pilot.  
"Hell yeah!" Joker exclaimed, "I'd get up and kick your ass right now, but this seat is just too damn cosy."  
"Play nicely, children," Shepard warned them tiredly.  
"She started it!"  
Shepard sighed and phased out for a moment, casting a glance out at the nebula. His head was still throbbing from the beacon's... whatever. Yet another ghostly flash across his vision-

_Pair of hands clawing at the skull, loss of mind, loss of self-_

He shook his head and it disappeared. He blinked a few times and gave his head another quick shake.  
'_If this lasts much longer, I'm going to go crazy...'  
_"So you're our souvenir?" Joker was saying to Williams. "Neat – I guess we needed to get something after you guys broke that prothean thing."  
Williams bristled and said, "first, I'd love to see you try and put me on a mantelpiece. And second, we didn't break that-"  
"Look," Alenko interrupted, gesturing through the bridge windows and forestalling the budding argument.

The nebula began to thin out, giving a progressively less obscured view of the Citadel. They were still kilometres away, but it was already an enormous blot on the otherwise majestic view of the nebula. Five gargantuan arms reached out towards them, the outside edges smooth and unblemished, the insides studded with comparatively minute towers that pointed inwards. At the far end, the arms were joined by a spindly ring, a single spire jutting outwards to it's centre.

"That's..." Williams started, then trailed off.  
"Pretty impressive," Shepard finished for her. Having grown up in space, he'd seen dozens of stations in his time but the Citadel was something else entirely. As the Normandy drew closer, other ships came into view, hundreds of them, coming and going, ranging in size from shuttles to patrol frigates to-  
"Look at the size of that ship!" Williams said, stepping over to the portside window to get a better view. Shepard joined her, looking over the behemoth that had drifted into view. With it's silvery-blue finish and smooth curves, it looked more like a piece of artwork than the warship it was.  
"The Destiny Ascension," Alenko said, "flagship of the Citadel Fleet."  
"Well, size isn't everything," Joker said dismissively, kicking the Normandy into a lazy roll as it passed under the Ascension's outspread wing.  
"Why so touchy, Joker?" Williams needled him.  
"I'm just saying you need firepower, too!"  
"Look at that monster! It's main gun could rip through the barriers on any ship in the Alliance fleet!"  
"Good thing it's on our side then," Alenko noted.

Joker tapped theatrically at his display to open a comm channel, "Citadel Control, this is SSV Normandy, requesting permission to dock."  
"Standby for clearance, Normandy," the reply came back briskly. Within seconds, the voice said, "clearance granted, you may begin your approach. Transferring you to an Alliance operator."  
"Roger, Citadel Control. Normandy out."  
The Normandy swept into the empty void between the station's arms. The view from one side offered an uninterrupted flyby vista of one of the arms: A sprawling cityscape, dotted with skyscrapers, criss-crossed with lines of the flickering lights of traffic.

"Normandy, this is Alliance Tower, please proceed to dock four-two-two."  
Joker pushed the Normandy towards a new course, heading for the point where one of the arms connected to the central ring. With a flourished frenzy of finger-tapping, he brought the Normandy swooping into a ship dock, where it settled with undeniable grace. Magnetic clamps deployed and latched onto the ship's hull, holding it in place. Joker settled back in his chair with a satisfied sigh, lacing his fingers behind his head, smirking widely.  
"Money well spent."


	5. First Contact

**Chapter 5: First Contact**

The Citadel Presidium: seven-point-two kilometres in diameter; five hundred and fifty-three metres wide; gravity a light three-tenths of Earth average. Home to the galaxy's elite, with a plethora of luxurious residences, and the seat of galactic government.

Shepard knew this because he'd spent the trip to the embassy browsing the Citadel's Tourist Guide extranet site. It contained a lot of very long numbers and even more ostentatious wording, slightly confounded by translation issues. He idly swapped the broken human English out for standard Galactic and kept reading until the dullness got the better of him. He switched his omni-tool off and looked out of the transport at the scenery. For something dubbed 'rapid transit', it was certainly taking it's time. Clearly, the type of person who lived on the presidium wasn't the type who liked to rush.

Then again, rushing by the presidium's meticulously laid-out parks would practically have been a sin; even he had to admit, the presidium was an idyllic sight: the prothean's signature sweeping architecture was again in attendance, this time paired with gleaming white surfaces that helped reflect the artificial sunlight, leaving hardly any shadows to darken the scene. A holographic sky, pure white clouds against perfect blue, hovered above the immaculate grassy lawns and clear lakes. It was incredibly beautiful... but also vaguely unsettling. 'Too perfect', as Williams had remarked.

Shepard hadn't bothered to change out of his fatigues for the hearing. Anderson was looking resplendent in his dress blues, but the smart uniform didn't sit so well with a handgun strapped to the right hip. Or with a seven-inch fighting knife sheathed under the opposite arm. The Commander had heard of paranoia long ago, and had decided to never let it get the drop on him. Shepard cast an eye over the transport's interior. A few diplomats and citizens were sitting or standing around, gazing out over the scenery or talking in hushed tones. Williams and Alenko were seated behind him; Anderson was standing, watching the vista roll past the window. After a few moments' thought, Shepard stood up to join him, turning his back on the view and giving the transport's passengers another suspicious look.

"A word in your ear, Captain?" Shepard murmured.  
Anderson didn't look at him, but he nodded.  
"This Spectre business-" Shepard started, before the Captain cut him off.  
"I know you weren't happy with having it sprung on you like that," he said, "but the Spectres work to their own rules, and we didn't want word getting out. There was too much publicity around the Normandy as it was and the Eden Prime mission had to stay secret."  
"That makes sense," Shepard admitted. "It just would have been nice to have been given the choice, that's all."  
"You were the only real candidate," Anderson divulged. "You've been the Alliance's top operative for years. I know you won't be surprised to learn that some of the Brass weren't happy- "  
"Nope."  
"But Admiral Hackett gave you his full support, and when Nihlus' recommendation came in," Anderson shrugged, "choosing anyone else seemed... ill-advised."  
"Someone could have asked first, that's all," Shepard said, immediately aware of how juvenile it sounded.  
"If we'd asked, you would've said no," Anderson said knowingly, "and we could hardly refuse this chance to get a human into the Spectres."  
Shepard sighed. "It's just-" he started, before turning to face out over the presidium with Anderson. He murmured heatedly, "Anderson: I'm an Alliance marine - a soldier - not some sort of... galactic super-spy," he said disdainfully. "I've no interest in flying halfway across the galaxy to help aliens solve their problems."  
"You'll still be a soldier," Anderson reassured him, "the Council knows your background; they'll only send you on missions you're suited for. You'll just have a lot more freedom in how you operate. No more red tape," he added meaningfully.

Shepard didn't reply. He knew he'd lost the discussion. Hell, he'd lost it before he'd opened his mouth. Truth be told, the idea of being a Spectre was starting to grow on him. The last two years, a good chunk of which spent on solo operations, had been... incredibly liberating after nearly a decade of by-the-book soldiering, but- okay, maybe not precisely 'by-the-book', if his record of disciplinary action was anything to go by, but even so. He wasn't even sure that he really would have said no if he had been asked... but he'd be damned if he let on to anyone.

The transport began to slow and descend. A pleasant, synthesised voice announced, "Embassy Park".  
"Well it's a moot point now, anyway," Shepard said, "I'll be lucky if the Council doesn't lay charges for... I don't know, vandalism? Destruction of Archaeological Find of the Century?"  
"You know that wasn't your fault, Shepard," Anderson reiterated patiently, as the transport set down and the doors hissed open, "the Council can't blame you for that."  
"Anderson," Shepard said in the tones of one stating the patently obvious as they stepped off the transport, "they're _politicians_."

* * *

There seemed to be a... heated discussion taking place inside the embassy when they arrived.  
"This is an outrage!" the Ambassador was shouting as they entered, "the Council would step in if the geth attacked a _turian_ colony!"  
The three holographic figures opposite him seemed less-than-impressed with this outburst. One replied, "the turians don't found colonies on the borders of the Terminus Systems, Ambassador."  
Shepard rolled his eyes. _That_ old argument. The Terminus was ridden with merc bands, private armies and slaver scum. The Council had always taken the line that the risk of sparking a major war in the region wasn't worth the few colonies that existed there. That had been all well and good – up until the Alliance had started colonising the Attican Traverse and Skyllian Verge en masse and now pirate and slaver raids were at a peak.

"And what about Saren?" Udina demanded. "You can't just ignore a rogue Spectre; I demand action!"  
"You don't get to make demands of the Council, Ambassador," the image of the turian Councillor said dismissively.  
"Citadel Security is investigating your claims against Saren," the asari Councillor said, with an air of finality. "We will discuss the findings at the hearing. Not before."  
The debate finally wound down and the ambassador turned to them. Shepard knew who he was – Donnel Udina: the man who represented humanity to the galaxy at large and made them all look like... well, like a people who shouted and screamed when they didn't get their way.

"Captain Anderson." Udina greeted them in a tone that instantly made Shepard dislike him. "I see you brought half your crew with you."  
Shepard would never know how the Captain managed to sound so patient when he replied, "just the ground team from Eden Prime - in case you had any questions."  
"I have the mission reports. I assume they're accurate?"  
'_No, you idiot, we made it all up,_' was Shepard's preferred response, but Anderson simply reassured him. The Captain must have been a saint in a previous life.  
"Sounds like you convinced the Council to give us an audience."  
"They were not happy about it. Saren's their top agent – they don't like him being accused of treason-" Udina's gaze slipped sideways onto Shepard, which provoked a new outburst. "And you, Commander!" Udina stepped in front of Shepard, pointing an accusing finger at him. "Eden Prime was supposed to be a chance to show that you could get the job done! Instead, Nihlus ended up dead and the beacon was destroyed!"  
Shepard glared at the outstretched digit for a moment before saying, "one, neither of those was my fault; two, get that out of my face before you lose it."  
Udina glowered at him for that, but he also lowered his finger.  
"We had better hope that the C-Sec investigation turns up some evidence to support your claims, Shepard, or the Council will use this as an excuse to keep you out of the Spectres. Captain," Udina turned to Anderson, "I need to go over a few things with you before the hearing."  
Udina retreated to his desk and started to throw various datapads about, "Shepard, you and the others can meet us at the Citadel Tower in an hour, top level. You'll have clearance to get in."  
Udina had looked away from them before he had finished speaking.

"And that's why I hate politicians," Ash remarked as they left the embassy.  
"You need a reason?" Shepard asked, raising an eyebrow at her.  
"The Ambassador's just trying to do his job," Alenko reasoned as Williams chuckled, "he must be pretty badly stressed with all that's happening."  
"Lieutenant, _we_ get shot at for a living," Shepard said evenly, "some of us manage to not be colossal jerks about it."  
"You did threaten to rip his finger off, Commander," Alenko pointed out, somewhat incredulously, to renewed laughter from Williams.  
"And I only said 'some'," Shepard countered coolly.

* * *

They spent the intervening hour wandering about the Presidium's parks. It was certainly a nice change from the cramped orbital habitats that Shepard was used to, but it was just too... clean. Like it was never used. They stopped for a moment to admire the to-scale relay monument that was the centrepiece of the Embassy Park.  
"You know, art doesn't normally do much for me, but this? I like," Williams admitted.  
"Not particularly original," said Shepard, faux-critically, "I think I've seen hundreds just like it."  
"I think that's sort of the point, Commander."  
"Why bother?" Shepard went on, "it's not like anyone doesn't know what a relay looks like. Besides, you need a pair of them for it to make sense."  
"It's not meant to make sense," Williams said, "it's... symbolic."  
"Symbolic of what, exactly? Downsizing?" Shepard asked. "Oh fine: it looks pretty," he added after Williams shot him an exasperated look. The Chief peered across him to where Alenko was standing, rubbing at his jaw.  
"You okay, Lieutenant?" Williams asked.  
"It's nothing," he replied, "implant's playing up again, that's all."

Shepard heard something that made him look around.  
"... just know Saren's up to something!"

Two turians were approaching. One in a C-Sec hardsuit, the other wearing a more formal uniform. They were having a heated, but muttered discussion. At least, one was muttering.  
"He's hiding something! Give me more time – stall them!"  
The more formally attired turian stopped and turned to face the other officer, giving him a scornful look.  
"Stall the Council? Don't be ridiculous. Your investigation is _over_, Garrus."

The C-Sec officer glared at the older turian's back as he marched away, passing Shepard without a second glance. Then he turned and leant against the nearby railing and stared out across the lake. Shepard walked over to him, clearing his throat. The turian languages were hell on a dry throat – trying to simulate inflexible lips and a pair of mandibles was a challenge and a half.  
"Excuse me," Shepard said. As he did so, the officer straightened up and gave him a surprised look, that quickly dissolved into the universal look of public servants who really, _really_ don't want to have to deal with you right now.  
"I'm sorry citizen, I have matters to attend to, y-"  
"Shepard," the Commander interrupted him, "Alliance military."  
"Right," the officer said thoughtfully, paying him more attention now, "you're the human who started this whole Saren business. Garrus Vakarian," he introduced himself, "I'm the C-Sec officer handling the Saren investigation."  
"I guessed that," Shepard jerked a thumb over his shoulder, "couldn't help overhearing. Turn up anything I should know about?"  
Vakarian grimaced. "Not a thing," he said grudgingly. "Between the Executor giving me less than a day to build a case and everything Saren touching being classified, I couldn't get a hold of anything solid.

"Still, I know he's up to something. What is it you humans say? 'I feel it in my gut'?"  
"Something like that," Shepard said. "You met him, then?"  
"No, but I hear stories," Vakarian said darkly, looking out over the lake again, "enough to know he should be on the receiving end of a Spectre operation - not being allowed to go on doing as he pleases in the name of 'galactic stability'."  
"Well, I'll see what I can do about that," Shepard said, "we'd better be getting to the hearing."  
"Right. I've got a lead to follow up on anyway." Vakarian nodded to him, "good luck, Shepard – maybe they'll listen to you."  
"Thanks." Shepard turned and walked away, Alenko and Williams falling in next to him. A single C-Sec officer working on an investigation into alleged treason, and any relevant information being classified. That didn't bode well for the upcoming hearing.  
"I didn't know you spoke turian, Commander," Alenko said interestedly.  
"Hm, what?" Shepard said distractedly. "Oh yeah. I do. What did you make of him?" he asked.  
"Seemed a nice guy," Alenko said, "definitely on our side."  
"Not bad – for a turian," Williams chimed in.  
"What did you think, Commander?" Alenko asked, ignoring Williams' comment.  
"Definitely on our side," Shepard agreed as they stepped into the elevator to the Citadel Tower. "But anyone who can call someone 'citizen' with a straight face is eleven kinds of uptight jackass."

* * *

"The hearing's already started, come on."  
Shepard had known that before he'd got within a hundred paces of Anderson; he could hear Udina's ranting voice from the far end of the Council chamber. He and Anderson mounted the last flight of stairs together, walking up to where Udina's diatribe was coming to an end. Shepard made a point to notice how the platform they were stood on was at a fair height below where the Council members were standing on a raised balcony, not to mention how it extended into thin air. It was a typical power play: meant to make them feel exposed.  
"The geth attack is a matter of some concern," the asari Councillor said, "but there is nothing to suggest that Saren was involved in any way."  
"The investigation by Citadel Security turned up no evidence to support your charge of treason," the turian Councillor noted.  
"An eyewitness watched him kill Nihlus in cold blood!" Udina retorted indignantly.  
"We've read the Eden Prime reports, Ambassador," the salarian Councillor said, "a momentary sighting and the testimony of a single traumatised dockworker is hardly compelling proof."  
"I resent these accusations."

Shepard looked up. An oversized holographic projection of the infamous Spectre was leering down at the proceedings. His arms were folded irreverently and he had the closest thing to a sneer on his face that a turian could manage. He wasn't deigning to even look at the Council as he spoke, as if the whole thing was an inconvenience to him. Just looking at him made something in Shepard's gut clench tightly; he could almost _feel_ the malevolence radiating off Saren.  
"Nihlus was a fellow Spectre, and a friend," Saren went on, sounding none too torn up over the loss of either.  
"That just let you catch him off guard!" Anderson said hotly.  
"Captain Anderson," Saren purred in mock surprise, as if he'd just noticed the Captain, "you always seem to be involved when humanity makes false accusations against me."

The turian's head turned and tilted as he looked down at where Shepard was stood. "And this must be your protégé, Commander Shepard – the one who let the beacon get destroyed."  
Shepard didn't bother replying through any medium other than glaring back at the hologram; he considered himself a little above rising to petty taunts.  
"Does this one not even speak?" Saren asked mockingly. "Humanity must be more desperate than I thought, to recommend a mute as a Spectre." Saren grinned wickedly, "or does it just lack the intelligence?"

Okay, maybe not _that_ far above it.

"Insults? How childish," Shepard said disdainfully. "If this is the best the turians have to offer, it's no wonder First Contact was such a pushover."  
It was a stupid thing to say, he knew, but Saren didn't seem to think so. The Spectre's grin vanished and was replaced with seething rage in an instant. He dropped his arms to his sides and leant forward to loom over the humans on the platform.  
"Your species needs to learn it's place, Shepard," Saren snarled, "you're not ready to join the Council: you're not even ready to join the Spectres."  
Shepard didn't really listen to Udina's responding tirade: he was watching Saren's fist curl in on itself until he thought the turian's wrist would snap. The Commander folded his arms and met Saren's furious stare with a more placid version of his own that seemed to enrage the turian even further.  
"Shepard's admission into the Spectres is not the purpose of this hearing," the asari Councillor said, trying to head off Udina's mounting displeasure.  
"This hearing has no purpose!" Saren snapped, barely looking away from Shepard to address the Councillor, "the humans are simply seeking to waste my time! And yours, Councillor!"

"There is still one outstanding issue," Anderson spoke up suddenly, "Commander Shepard's vision. It-"  
Shepard shot Anderson a warning glance, but it was too late. Saren let out a guffaw. "Are we allowing _dreams_ into evidence now? How can I possibly defend my innocence against this kind of testimony?" he demanded.  
"I agree," the turian Councillor said haughtily, "our judgement must be based on facts, not rumours and wild speculation."  
The three Councillors nodded to each other and the verdict was made – not that Shepard didn't think it hadn't been made before they'd set foot on the Citadel.  
"The Council has found no evidence linking Saren Arterius to the geth," the asari Councillor declared, "Ambassador, your petition to have him disbarred from the Spectres is denied."  
"I'm glad to see justice was served," Saren said, sinking back into his smooth façade.  
"This hearing is adjourned."

Saren gave the humans a last, contemptuous look before his hologram rippled and disappeared.


	6. Hive

**Chapter 6: Hive**

"I hate to say I told you so, Captain, but-"  
"Stow it, Commander," Anderson said tersely, his mouth a grim line.  
"Aye, aye, sir."  
The Ambassador led them off the platform and over to a secluded corner of the chamber. As Alenko and Williams joined them, he rounded on Anderson.  
"It was a mistake bringing you into that hearing, Captain," Udina said, "you and Saren have too much history – it made the Council question our motives."  
Anderson waved off Udina's words. "I know Saren," he said firmly, "he's the only turian who would pull off him something like this: he thinks humanity is a blight on the face of the galaxy! Every colony we have is at risk – even Earth itself isn't safe!" he declared. Rather melodramatic, in Shepard's opinion.  
"Captain, maybe the Council's right," Alenko put in judiciously, "maybe Saren didn't have anything to do with Eden Prime – we didn't have any hard evidence."  
"I don't believe that for a moment," Anderson replied adamantly. "Shepard – you saw Saren; he was there!"  
Shepard scratched at his scar absent-mindedly. "I saw _a _turian," he said evasively.  
"How many other turians-" Anderson began before Udina cut him off.  
"I'm beginning to think they're right, Captain," Udina said harshly, "your history with Saren is clouding your judgement."  
"What more do you need?" Anderson demanded, "another of our colonies reduced to rubble? We-"  
"That's enough, Captain!" Udina snapped. "I have had misgivings on this business from the start and this attitude of yours has not helped your case! This is over!"

"No."  
Everyone turned to Shepard as he spoke. "It was Saren, I'm certain of it."  
Udina groaned and shook his head, "Shepard, what-"  
"Were any of you watching Saren back there?" Shepard asked. "He was laughing through his teeth at us the whole time." Shepard nodded at Anderson, "and I see what you mean about hating humans – I thought he was going to spit fire when I mentioned First Contact."  
Udina sighed resignedly, "Commander, need I remind you that we have _no evidence_?"  
Shepard cracked his knuckles, "well, we'd better find some then, hadn't we?"  
"And where, pray tell, do you intend to find it, Shepard?" Udina demanded.

There was a very awkward pause, briefly broken by Udina burying his head in the palm of one hand as Shepard shrugged.

"What about Garrus, the C-Sec investigator?" Alenko suggested.  
Shepard snapped his fingers. "Right," he said, "he mentioned following up on a lead – what's the bet that had something to do with Saren?"  
"Or it could be entirely unrelated and a waste of our time," Udina argued.  
"Couldn't do any harm to check it out," Shepard insisted, "and it's not like I'm asking your permission anyhow, Ambassador."  
Udina gave an exasperated sigh. "Fine," he replied through gritted teeth, "if you're so sure of this, Commander, go ahead. Just try not to cause any trouble – your Spectre admission is hanging by a thread as it is."  
"I won't," Shepard lied. "Any ideas how we can track down Vakarian?"  
"I have a contact in C-Sec who could help you – Harkin," Udina said reluctantly.  
"Forget it!" Anderson scoffed, "Harkin's a lowlife – I won't have anything to do with that loser!"  
"You won't have to," Udina said sharply, "I'm not having your history with Saren give the Council a reason to dismiss anything we might turn up. And that goes for you two as well," he turned to Alenko and Williams, "I can't cover for three Alliance marines running around, interfering in Spectre affairs. Shepard can handle this by himself."  
"So you expect us to leave the Commander all alone to rummage through Saren's dirty laundry?" Williams demanded.  
"Leave it, Chief," Shepard advised her. She shot him a displeased look, but said nothing more.  
"I need to inform the Minister of the outcome of the hearing," Udina said, "bring any evidence you do find to my office. And Shepard," Udina stepped forward and growled, "do _not_ screw this up."

"I hate that man," Williams said matter-of-factly as Udina walked away.  
"He's right though," Alenko said, "we'll be on dangerous ground if we're caught investigating a Spectre."  
"You mean the Commander will, seeing as the rest of us just got sidelined," Williams retorted.  
"For good reasons, Chief," Anderson said tiredly, "it would look bad if we were caught – me especially. Will you be alright, Commander?"  
"'Course I will," Shepard said bracingly, "I'm not doing anything too dangerous – just having a friendly chat with a C-Sec officer about a recent case of mutual interest."  
"Unless Saren finds out," Williams muttered.

"Captain, who's this Harkin and where can I find him?" Shepard asked.  
Anderson sighed and grimaced, "Harkin was the first human C-Sec officer – and he's been an embarrassment to humanity ever since. Corruption, drug use, roughing up suspects; you name it. He would have been booted off the force years back, but the embassy would always step in for him – we needed a human in C-Sec." Anderson frowned, "I'd rather not have to get information from him; he's not exactly," he paused and corrected himself, "not remotely reliable."  
"Do we have a choice?" Shepard asked.  
The Captain thought for a moment, then said, hesitantly, "you could try Barla Von – he's an agent for the Shadow Broker-"  
"No way, no how," Shepard cut him off firmly. The Shadow Broker was _the_ galactic information dealer. Whoever the mysterious individual – or group – was, they were rumoured to control enough information to bring down every government in the galaxy. Then rebuild them all from scratch. "If he works for the Shadow Broker, he'd just as soon sell information about me to Saren."  
"True enough," Anderson admitted. "Harkin was suspended a couple of weeks back – drinking on the job – so you'll probably find him in Chora's Den: dingy little club on Zakera Ward."  
"Right," Shepard acknowledged, "I'd better get going."  
"We'll head back to the Normandy – let us know if you find anything."  
"Commander," Williams asked as they walked down to the elevator, "are you sure you'll be okay?"  
"I'll be fine," Shepard reassured her, "the worst danger I'll be in is getting myself lost."

* * *

He hid in the shadows.

Not the shadows caused by a lack of light – anyone with half a brain would look there. He was hiding in the shadows of people's perception. Someone lurking in a dark corner was suspicious. Someone who was leaning on a railing, apparently watching a C-Sec officer arguing with an evangelical hanar with a suitably amused expression was just a nobody.

The fact that they had a good view of the entrance to the Citadel Tower would be dismissed as a coincidence.

Someone who'd walked past and looked over his shoulder a few minutes ago would have see him read a message off his omni-tool: '_Make it painful_'. If they'd stuck around, they would have seen him nod to himself and pat at his waist. If they'd waited a while longer, he would have turned around and made some remark on the farcical argument. Then they'd have chuckled and wandered away.

After all, there was nothing suspicious about a polite stranger.

* * *

The Citadel Wards were not the typical space station habitat. Each of the five arms was large enough to support an entire city built upon the inside surface, but a rabbit warren of lower levels extended deep under the towering spires. As you went lower, the metal became more tarnished and the glamour started to drift away into squalor. The people didn't fare much better, but there were certainly a lot more of them, managing, despite the many different species in evidence, to bear the same expression of selfish apathy that all people who lived amongst many others for a long time developed: 'There's too many of you to care about, so I'll just worry about me'.

Shepard didn't mind the crowds: it was a good place to lose yourself for a while. Just be another member of the Brownian motion of people's daily lives. Then again, most people's 'daily lives' didn't involve being given a wide berth on account of their carrying a sidearm, a knife and an expression that heavily suggested a willingness to use them. At least it meant he didn't have to push and shove; only disregard the double-takes and nervous glances he received. Muscle memory took care of navigation as he weaved his way through the crowds, leaving Shepard's mind free to idly ponder on the day's events so far.  
'_Too much history'_. '_False accusations_'.  
The Captain had clearly had dealings with Saren in the past. Unpleasant ones. And he hadn't been forthcoming about it. If it were almost anyone else, Shepard would be suspicious. Or at least, _more_ suspicious. But Anderson was one of the select few that had Shepard's... if not _trust_, then certainly confidence. If he thought Shepard didn't need to know, then Shepard didn't want to ask.

A brown-skinned salarian fell in beside him and started jabbering away at him, offering... some service or other. Shepard shrugged him off and kept walking. The salarian laid a hand on the Commander's shoulder, and received an elbow to the windpipe for his troubles. Shepard walked on, leaving the unfortunate entrepreneur coughing in his wake. His train of thought, completely oblivious to the unlucky soul crushed beneath its wheels, continued unhindered.  
'_Shepard's admission into the Spectres_'.  
So that was apparently still on the cards. Although how it would go forward now that Nihlus was now incapable of respiration, let alone acting as Shepard's sponsor, was a mystery. He couldn't deny it now: becoming a Spectre would be worth it _just_ for the look on Saren's face. If only someone would be considerate enough to ask his bloody opinion on the matter.

Shepard mounted a flight of steps, emerging into an open plaza that housed the local rapid transit hub. One edge was bordered by a sheer drop into the aircar lane, a deep trench that cut down into the depths of the ward. Beyond that, an immense transparent wall and the vacuum of space. It offered a fairly epic view across the void between the Citadel's arms. Shepard couldn't help but linger for a moment, leaning on the parapet and looking out across the station.

'_Humanity needs this_'.  
No argument there.

'_This isn't just about you_'.  
Nothing ever was.

"Seriously?" Shepard asked.  
He turned his head to glare down at an unfortunate asari child whose questing hand was now twitching under Shepard's tight grip on her wrist.  
"You could have picked anyone in this crowd, and you went for the one in uniform?" he went on coolly. The pickpocketing youth started to tremble in fear of the big, scary alien that was speaking flawless Galactic at her. Shepard's gaze took in the ragged clothes and generally dishevelled demeanour and sighed.  
"How about you just run along and we'll say no more about it, hm?" he suggested. She nodded frantically in return.  
"Go on, get outta here."  
He released his grip and she darted off into the crowd. He didn't have the time to waste hauling an urchin off to C-Sec. Which probably meant he didn't have time to admire the view, either. He stepped back from the ledge and strode on, headed for the lower levels of the ward.

Chora's Den was almost as low in the wards as you could get before you dropped out the bottom into hard vacuum. At some point, the crowds began to thin out and the bustle of people was replaced by the hum of machinery. The layout of passageways and corridors and plazas became less orderly and more idiosyncratic: Lean up against the right wall and you could feel the hum of some arcane device that was just one part of the innumerable systems that kept the Citadel functioning. Shepard discovered this for himself as he stopped for a moment to pull up a ward map on his omni-tool. He studied it for a few moments, then dropped his arm to slap away the knife that was sweeping towards his throat.

* * *

He staggered as the human gripped his wrist and yanked it down and away from its neck, then grunted as it darted aside and punched him square in the side of the head. He turned – only to flinch and narrowly miss losing an eye to a swipe from the human's knife. He went to thrust – only to cry out and feel his blade drop from his hand as the human stabbed him, low on his left side. The white-hot pain was supplemented by the warmth of his own blood running down his thigh. He tried to grab the human's wrist, twist the knife out of its grip, but the human drew back, then lashed out again, this time ramming its knife into the inside of his hip joint. His leg buckled instantly as the sliver of metal was twisted, ripping through tendon and ligament, and he slumped to the ground heavily. The human's boot struck him in the face, sending him sprawling. A hand, slick with his own blood, gripped his collar and threw him against the wall in a sitting position.

He heard the skittering of metal over metal as the human kicked his blade away, then it crouched beside him and pushed the edge of its knife against his throat.  
"Why are you trying to kill me?" it asked him in a cold voice, the tremor of an adrenalin rush conspicuously absent.  
"Fuck you, Shepard," he wheezed, trying to push his palm against the wound in his side. The human said nothing for a moment, then pushed the knife deeper, cutting a line in the skin.  
"Why did Saren send you?" it asked, no less calmly.  
"I didn't ask!" he snarled.  
"But he _did_ send you?" It was a question, but he knew as he met the human's steady gaze that it already had the answer it wanted. It regarded him for a second, then spun the knife in its grip and thrust it through his throat. The last thing he felt was the blood from his severed artery spattering his chest.

* * *

Shepard wiped the blue blood from his knife on his assailant's clothes, before doing the same for his hands: blood was a bitch to wash away once it had dried. He inspected the turian's facial markings. They were identical to those of a turian he knew had been in the same elevator as him from the presidium to the ward – the same turian who had been the only person present not shooting nervous glances at his weaponry. Shepard scooped up the discarded knife and tossed it into the turian's lap before sheathing his own knife and walking away, leaving the body where it lay. A few minutes' swift walking brought him back to the elevators. As he stepped into an empty elevator and began the ascent towards the ward's surface, he tapped on his omni-tool.  
"Anderson? Shepard. Someone just tried to assassinate me."  
A pause. Then, "no, this is a message from beyond the grave."  
"He knew my damn name. I'm not that famous, especially outside the Alliance."  
"All but said it himself, so yes."  
"I'm on my way back now."  
"What? No, I'm coming to get the rest of my guns."

* * *

Shepard led the way from the Normandy's airlock, now clad in his combat hardsuit, with his personal armoury strapped to him: sniper rifle, assault rifle, grenades aplenty and the sidearm-and-knife ensemble he'd been carrying earlier. In a futile attempt to look less threatening, he'd deigned to leave the helmet hanging at his hip. Williams and Alenko flanked him on both sides, similarly armoured; Anderson had insisted they accompany him and he wasn't complaining. They filed into the elevator and began the long descent to the wards proper.  
"So, LT," Williams said wryly, "still think the 'Saren did it' theory is a crock of shit?"  
"That's 'lieutenant', to you, Gunnery Chief," Alenko replied fastidiously, "and yes, having my XO set upon by a knife-wielding thug has altered my views somewhat."  
"Good to hear, LT," Williams said.

Alenko joined the Commander in looking out over the vista before them. The five wards stretched away from where they stood, backlit by the blue glow from the Serpent nebula.  
"Big place," Alenko said in awe. He noticed Shepard nodding in agreement.  
"That your professional opinion, sir?" Williams asked, sounding amused as she stood on Shepard's opposite side.  
"Man's got a point, Williams," Shepard said, "this place is five cities rolled into one and its still bursting at the seams with people."  
"With _aliens_," Williams said, "be nice if they'd let the humans in."  
"The Council's just trying to keep everything running smoothly," Alenko argued, "it must be hard keeping all these different cultures working together. Especially when a new species just arrives from out of nowhere."  
"Or maybe they just don't like humans," Williams said dismissively.  
"Perish the thought," Shepard declared with mock enthusiasm, "we've got a rich and bountiful history of war, intolerance and persecution; what could aliens _not_ like about humanity?"  
"You know, when you say it like that, Commander, it doesn't really help our case," Alenko said.  
"Well, we'd best make a good job of burning our history textbooks," Shepard said, "maybe we can just show them the old sci-fi vids instead."  
Williams laughed as the Commander went on sarcastically, "you know, Earth's sparkling oceans, our beautiful women, this _strange_ emotion you call _love-_"  
"Well, if you want me in thigh-high boots and a tin-foil mini-skirt, I want dinner first!"

Williams snapped straight back to looking out at the view as Shepard and Alenko turned to stare at her.

"That... will be quite enough, Chief," Alenko said, trying his hardest not to crack up.  
"At ease, Lieutenant," Shepard ordered him in a stern voice that lasted right up until he almost-smirked and added, "I can't see her in a skirt, anyway."  
"Damn... straight you can't. Sir," Williams managed to stammer out.  
Mercifully for her, the elevator came to a halt and the doors slid open.  
"Alright, enough levity. Back to work, marines," Shepard ordered them, his natural scowl reasserting itself.


	7. Accumulation

**Chapter 7: Accumulation**

"A million light-years from where humanity began, and we walk into a bar full of men drooling over half-naked women shaking their asses on a stage. I can't decide if that's funny or sad."  
"What? You don't think they're here because of the food?"  
The club was packed, even at this hour. At least the armour and multitude of weaponry they carried granted them enough space to move around in. Without his helmet on, however, the pounding of the music was introducing a claustrophobia all of its own. Shepard could barely hear Alenko and Williams yelling to each other over the cacophony. He fielded a passing waitress. "Harkin?" he asked. She pointed over at a table in the corner and scurried off.  
"Hey, Lieutenant," Shepard heard Williams shout as he pushed his way through the throng, "put your tongue back in your mouth before you trip on it."  
"I wasn't-"

Their argument was forestalled by a somewhat larger one that they almost walked right into. Two krogan were squaring up to each other. At least, one was squaring up. The other, larger, one wearing deep red armour seemed to be amused by the attempt.  
"I said back off Wrex," the smaller krogan threatened, "Fist told us to take you down if you showed up."  
The armoured krogan chuckled in a deep, gravelly voice. "What are you waiting for?" he asked. "I'm standing right here."  
A couple of the bar's other bouncers started to drift over. Shepard glanced at the other marines and took a cautious step back. The krogan bouncer didn't respond.  
"This is Fist's only chance," Wrex said menacingly. "If he's smart, he'll take it."  
"He's not coming out, Wrex." The bouncer folded his arms and drew himself up. "End of story."  
Wrex took a moment to turn his reptilian head from side to side, sizing up the bouncers on either side of him. He seemed to think for a moment, then took a step forward. All three of the bouncers tensed.  
"This story is just beginning."

Wrex turned and would have walked out most impressively, if he hadn't almost barrelled headlong into Shepard. Their gazes met. The krogan's eye level was lower than Shepard's, but the hump on his back and general stature made him much more imposing. Shepard had met plenty of krogan – generally just before they died of gunshot and knife wounds, but still. He preferred them at the far end of his sniper scope, rather than in his face. This krogan in particular was putting him on edge. There were three ragged grooves cut into his head plate, which continued as a scar down the side of his face. It highlighted the glare Wrex was treating him to. That glare heavily suggested apathy towards violence – perfectly routine for a krogan – but Shepard couldn't shake a sense of being carefully weighed up. An unsaid agreement passed between them. Shepard stepped aside and the krogan stomped out of the bar. The bouncers let out the breath they had been holding and wandered away.  
"What was that all about?" Alenko asked as they continued their passage through the crowd.  
"Who knows?" Williams replied, "let's just try not to get caught in the middle."

"You Harkin?" Shepard asked.  
The bald man sitting at the table glared blearily up at them. The table was littered with glasses and it wasn't hard to see where most of the contents had gone. As Williams joined Shepard at the table, Harkin's gaze slid over to her, then flicked up and down lecherously.  
"Well, hello princess," Harkin slurred. "Why don't you siddown on ol' Harkin's lap an-"  
The back of Shepard's gauntleted hand slapped him across the face, prompting a groan of surprise and mild pain.  
"Show some respect," Shepard advised him as he sat down, leaning across the table menacingly. "Before I show you your spleen."  
Harkin rubbed his jaw and sneered at him. "Goddamn Alliance military," he grumbled. "I coulda been a marine, ya know. Instead I joined Citadel Security, biggest mistake of my life."  
"My heart bleeds for you." Shepard sneered right back. "I need to find a C-Sec officer, Garrus Vakarian. Do you know where he is?"  
"Why should I- Wait, Garrus?" Harkin wondered. "Now why would you..." He laughed. "You must be one of Anderson's crew, right? Stupid fuck's still trying to bring Saren down, is he?"  
Harkin lounged back in his chair and drawled, "yeah, I know where Garrus is. Jus' tell me one little thing, first: the Captain ever let you in on his dirty little secret?"  
"Just tell me where Vakarian is before I actually have to break your jaw."  
"But it's all related, see?" Harkin leaned forward, prompting Shepard to lean back to avoid passing out as the stench of intoxication rolled over him. Harkin lowered his voice and said conspiratorially, "see, Anderson used to be a Spectre, way back. Screwed up his first mission so bad he got kicked out! He ever tell you that? 'Course, he blames Saren-"  
"Vakarian," Shepard demanded, careful not to show his surprise show on his face. "Where?"  
Harkin shrugged at him, sitting back in his chair. "Fine. Try Doctor Michel's clinic – level twenty-four, past the markets."  
Shepard got up and left without another word.

They were back out in the maze of passageways before Williams hissed at the other two. "Why didn't the Captain tell us he used to be a Spectre?"  
"Maybe it's not true," Alenko suggested. "Harkin's an ass; I bet he's just messing with our heads."  
"Maybe," Williams said, sounding unsure. "Commander? You know him best."  
Shepard thought for a moment. The Captain had had a long and interesting history of service before Shepard had met the man. It was – just – possible. But getting Shepard a shot at the Spectres now had clearly been a teeth-pulling job. More than a few years ago it would have been untenable. But...  
"Maybe."

* * *

Turian facial expressions are hard to read by anyone outside the species. This meant, as he weaved his way through the crowd, that few could tell that Garrus Vakarian was currently fuming.

The reasons for his present mood were twofold: firstly, he'd spent the last hour or so wrestling with bureaucracy to get access to 'intelligence not relevant to his investigation'. Secondly, that intel had led him straight back to a clinic he'd visited just yesterday. The owner, one Doctor Michel, had assured him she'd seen nothing to do with the disturbance the day before. He felt his fist clench involuntarily. This time, he wouldn't be leaving without the information he needed.

Working for C-Sec had its perks, but autonomy and efficiency were not among them. When you were running a law enforcement organisation with officers from many species, each with their own individual and culturally-influenced ideas of what the 'law' should be, oversight and rigid enforcement of regulations was the order of the day. Fair enough – up until you needed to get something done fast. Which you always did; criminals rarely had the decency to wait on procedure.

Garrus stopped short as he neared the clinic. Three humans were approaching the entrance, but none of them looked like they needed medical attention. On an impulse, he took two steps to his left and concealed himself behind a holographic advertising board. He reached a hand up to the visor that wrapped around the left side of his head and gently manipulated the controls. The vision in his left eye suddenly jumped, magnified four times. The men came into focus and, interestingly, so did the weapons they were carrying. There was nothing illegal about carrying a gun on the Citadel – especially down in the wards – but these men didn't exactly look military. They reached the door to the clinic, looked around warily, then entered. As they did so, one of them drew his pistol.

So... three armed men walk into a clinic.

The punchline to that couldn't be at all funny.

Garrus flicked his visor back to normal magnification and drew his sidearm. He darted across to the clinic entrance and slipped soundlessly through the doors as they closed. The clinic was open-plan, split into two by a low divider that ran across the middle. On the far side, a human woman in a medical uniform had stopped in the act of tidying away various implements to stare at the new arrivals in shock. The trio of thugs didn't bother with the tedium of walking _around_ the divider, instead vaulting over it and approaching the Doctor. Hoping that they would be too focussed on their 'we're tough guys and you'd better know it' routine to notice the sound of footsteps behind them, Garrus darted over to the pillar that buttressed the end of the divider. Before the thugs could speak a word, he heard Doctor Michel cry, "I didn't tell anyone, I swear!"

He risked a peek around the corner of the pillar. They had the Doctor pinned up against the wall, a gun shoved in her face.  
"That was smart, Doc," the gunman snarled. "Now if Vakarian comes sniffing around again, you'd better stay smart. Be a shame if something happened to that pretty face..."  
Garrus felt his mandibles flicker in rage. From here, he only had a clean shot on one of the thugs, but not the one threatening the Doctor. If he started shooting, most likely she would end up dead.  
He tapped at his omni-tool. Tech grenade? Disable their weapons? Sure – it'd disable the one thug's gun, but not the two who still had their weapons holstered and deactivated.  
Wait for them to leave? No. Taking down scum like this was what he'd joined C-Sec for in the first place. Not an option.

He surpressed a frustrated growl. He needed back-up, a bigger gun, a time machine, a varren rigged with explosives and a funny hat, _anything_!

The door slid open.  
"Alliance military! Drop the weapon!"  
That... would do nicely.

He swung out from behind the pillar. The lead thug had spun around, thrusting the Doctor between himself and the doorway – and putting himself into Garrus' line of fire. In a split second, his pistol was levelled at the man's temple. Before the man could raise his weapon to the Doctor's back, Garrus squeezed the trigger and the man's head snapped sideways on his neck as he went down. There was a hail of gunfire from the doorway and the other two thugs were thrown back, lifelessly dropping to the ground.

Now _that's_ how it should be done.

"Clear!" a familiar human voice called out.  
"No shit, sir," a second, female, voice commented as Garrus holstered his gun and walked over to where the Doctor was standing frozen amidst the carnage.  
"Doctor Michel, are you hurt?" he asked her.  
"No," she managed to say. "No, I'm okay. Thank you, all of you."  
Garrus turned to the doorway. Commander Shepard, now clad in Alliance-issue combat armour, although still wearing that expression that suggested someone had been tugging at his mandibles, lightly climbed over the divider to join them, holstering his own pistol.  
"Perfect timing, Shepard," he said gleefully. "Gave me a clear shot at that bastard."  
"Any time," the human replied. "Nicely done, by the way," he added.  
"Sometimes you get lucky," Garrus purred. "I'm guessing you came because the Council threw your accusation out?" It was hardly a 'guess', more... intuitive precognition.  
"That they did," Shepard confirmed. "We figured you might have something, so I decided to drop in."  
"I do, or I will, at least." Garrus turned back to the Doctor. "Doctor, I hope you appreciate how serious this is now. Maybe it's time you told me _everything_." The still-trembling woman nodded and began to speak.

"A couple of days ago, a quarian came by my clinic. She'd been shot, but she wouldn't say who by. I could tell she was scared, probably on the run. While I was patching her up, she asked me where she could sell some information she'd gotten hold of. I told her to go to Fist, everyone knows he's an agent for the Shadow Broker-"  
"Not any more," Garrus broke in. "Now he works for Saren."  
"That so?" Shepard asked.  
"Yeah," Garrus said. He'd been surprised to learn about that. Turning on the galaxy's most powerful information broker was beyond stupid and into the murky realms of insanity. Whatever offer Saren had made must have been... impressive, to say the least. "I hear the Shadow Broker's not very happy about it."  
"The Shadow Broker might just be the least of his problems now," Shepard said. "I'm guessing these were Fist's men, then?" he asked the Doctor. "Sent to keep you quiet?"  
"Y- yes," the doctor answered.  
"That quarian must have something Saren wants kept secret," Garrus said. Shepard nodded in agreement. "Did she say anything about this information she had? Anything at all?" he demanded.  
"No. She was- wait a minute... Geth! She said it had something to do with the geth."  
"Well, that settles it," Shepard said decisively. He turned to the other marines accompanying him. "Let's move, we need a word with Fist."  
"I'm coming with you, Shepard," Garrus declared. "This is my show as much as it is yours."  
Shepard hesitated. "Not to sound ungrateful," he said cautiously, "but shouldn't someone be taking care of all these bodies we just made?"  
"They'll keep." Garrus waved a hand impatiently. "It'll just mean paperwork – getting to that evidence is more important."  
Shepard gave him a thoughtful look, then shrugged. "Alright," he said. "Let's move – we don't know how much time we have."

The four of them left the clinic, leaving the doctor alone with a trio of corpses.  
"Is there anything we should know about Fist?" Shepard asked Garrus after a quick round of introductions.  
Garrus grimaced. "Not much to know," he said shortly. "He's just a small-time criminal – C-Sec always turned a blind eye to him. I think he's been paying someone off."  
A recent report he had read crossed his mind. "There is something," he said thoughtfully. "A krogan bounty hunter arrived on the Citadel recently and he's known to take jobs from the Shadow Broker. It's good odds that he's here for Fist-"  
"Red armour, scarred face, name of Wrex?" Shepard asked, prompting a surprised look from Garrus.  
"How did-"  
"We met him already," the female human – Williams – said. "He came _this_ close to kissing the Commander."  
"We were at Chora's Den to meet a contact," Shepard said, with an aggrieved glare at his subordinate. "Wrex was having a little fun with the bouncers."  
"If he was making threats-" Garrus said.  
"Yeah, you could say that," Alenko chimed in.  
"- then C-Sex will have picked him up for a little 'chat'. We could drop by the Academy and see if he's willing to team up."  
"Commander, do we really want a mercenary with us?" Alenko asked.  
"And a krogan, at that," Williams added.  
Shepard stopped in his tracks and scratched at a scar on his face for a moment. Then he shrugged. "We might as well. Better that he's on our side than getting in our way." He continued walking, adding, "besides, I've got a feeling we'll be making a few more bodies before this day's over."  
Garrus smirked and nodded. Barely ten minutes had passed and his mood had jumped from frustration to exhilaration without so much as a backward glance. Amazing, what a little gunplay could do for you.

* * *

Urdnot Wrex was busy languishing in the custody of a pair of turian C-Sec officers. They'd intercepted him as he left the lower levels of the wards and _very politely_ asked if he would consent to accompanying them to the Academy. He'd idly toyed with the idea of tossing the pair of them into the aircar lane, but had ultimately decided to go along with them, for now. Time was, he'd knock off a pair of interfering cops without a second thought. Maybe age was mellowing him.

Not that they'd taken him _inside_ the Academy; they couldn't have a krogan walking through the halls, stomping over the squeaky-clean floors, oh no. They were waiting outside for the human C-Sec officer that came striding out, looking utterly ridiculous in the uniform. Ah yes, humans. The newcomers. Take a turian, make it squishier, give it a furry head and you were almost there. The officer gave him a mean-eyed look that, from Wrex's perspective, looked comical.  
"Witnesses saw you making threats in Fist's bar." The officer started in the finest tradition of law-enforcement agencies everywhere: making a vague reference to a not-exactly-illegal-enough-to-make-it-worth-arresting-your-ass act to unnerve you. "Stay away from him," the officer finished.  
"I don't take orders from you," Wrex retorted.  
"This is your only warning, Wrex," the officer threatened, leaning down to bring his eyes level to Wrex's.  
"You should warn Fist; I _will_ kill him."  
The officer broke eye contact to shake his head disbelievingly. "Do you _want me_ to arrest you?"  
"I want you to _try_."  
Maybe he wasn't that aged after all.

Wrex noticed another C-Sec turian watching him over the human officer's shoulder. More interesting were the trio of armoured humans watching with him. Wrex gave the officer a last, contemptuous look and walked away, very carefully accidentally knocking him out of the way with his shoulder.  
"Go on," he heard the officer call from behind him. "Get outta here!"

Wrex stomped over to where the humans and the turian were stood. One of the humans stepped forward. A recent memory jumped to his mind – almost ploughing through a similar human in Chora's Den.  
"Do I know you, human?" he asked as he reached them.  
"Shepard," the human introduced himself, "Alliance military. I hear you're gunning for Fist."  
Wrex eyed the human. He remembered hearing that name a few years back when he was operating out in the Terminus. A lot of pirates and slavers went to bed at night cursing that name.  
"Shepard," Wrex repeated thoughtfully. "Commander Shepard. I've heard a lot about you."  
"Anything good?"  
Wrex thought for a moment before answering. The Skyllian Blitz. The catastrophic raid that had put a sizeable dent in the pirate population of the Terminus. Most of it due to the 'Elysian Hero'. The survivors of the Blitz and the Alliance's revenge strikes still spoke about the lone warrior that had fended off more than a hundred men over the course of a day, delaying the raiders for long enough that the Alliance relief force had caught their fleet in orbit. Mostly, they spoke concerning their grudge and the horrible ways they planned to kill him. He decided against revealing that.  
"What's your interest in Fist?" Wrex asked him instead.  
"He's got information I need."  
Wrex regarded Shepard for another long moment.  
"We're both warriors, Shepard," Wrex said finally. "Out of respect, I'll give you fair warning." He leaned in closer. "I'm going to kill Fist."  
"After I've got my intel, you can do what you damn well please," Shepard said. "Do you want to help us or not?"  
Wrex considered it. It wasn't like he couldn't knock Chora's Den over with one eye – or probably both eyes - closed if he wanted to. Not to mention how much he hated having others getting in his way during a fight. On the other hand, he thought, C-Sec would be all over him if he actually did that and it would be nice to have someone competent at his side for a change, rather than the chaff he'd had to tolerate for the last few decades.  
"My people have a saying," Wrex said slowly. "'Find the enemy of your enemy, and you will find a friend'." He held out a hand.  
Shepard grasped and shook it. "Good enough," he said. "Shall we?" he asked, gesturing to the elevator to the wards.  
"Let's go," Wrex stretched out his neck. "I hate to keep Fist waiting."

* * *

A/N: Urgh. I've been picking away at this chapter for so long, I don't even know what exactly I didn't like about it anymore. If you think you know, please leave a review.


	8. Beatdown

**Chapter 8: Raising Hell**

They simply must have been attracting some terrified looks as they passed back through the ward to Chora's Den. Three human soldiers, a C-Sec officer and a krogan, all armed to the teeth and looking set for a fight. Shepard just hoped nobody was panicky enough to call C-Sec before the inevitable shooting started.

They halted just around the corner from the bar. It was quiet. No regular pounding of music, no bustle of a crowd. The doorway was darkened and there was no movement visible through the frosted glass.  
"Looks like it's shut down," Garrus murmured in his ear.  
"Fist knows we're coming," Wrex growled.  
Shepard ducked back around the corner and took his helmet from his belt. "Gear up," he said, snapping the headgear into place.

The others drew their favoured weapons. Except Garrus, who could only pull his sidearm and look inadequate. Shepard took one look at him and reached for the sniper rifle on his back.  
"You know how to snipe, Vakarian?"  
Garrus holstered his pistol and smirked. "Better than you can, human."  
"Really? You think?" Shepard asked, amused. He held out the rifle. Garrus took a hold of it, but Shepard didn't let him take it.  
"This is my favourite gun. Do _not_ break it."  
"I'll take very good care of her, Commander," Garrus assured him without missing a beat.  
Shepard drew his assault rifle and moved on up to the club's entrance, the others following close behind. He flattened himself against the wall next to the door. A quick sweep with his omni-tool found no booby-traps. He turned to his impromptu team, preparing a tech grenade as he did so.  
"Alright. Wrex, you're with me, we're going left. Williams, Alenko, go right. Vakarian, cover from here. Clear?"  
Nods, a muttered 'Aye aye' from Williams and what he hoped was an affirmative growl from Wrex.  
"Stand by."  
He swung an arm out in front of the door. It slid open. Immediately, there was a barrage of gunfire from inside, a hail of bullets zipping through the open doorway. Shepard returned the favour with his tech grenade, aiming for where he figured the bullets were coming from.  
"Friendly place," Garrus quipped as he did so. "Very welcoming."  
There was a yell of panic, followed by the short, sharp crackle of electric discharge.  
"Move in!"

It was the second most brutally unfair engagement of Shepard's career thus far. Fist's bouncers and hired goons were wielding pistols and the occasional shotgun. Few of them had any sort of armour – none of it military-grade – and none of them had kinetic barriers. Shepard, on the other hand, was a genetically- and cybernetically-enhanced military special forces operative. His weapons were Alliance Spec. Ops. issue, tweaked by his own hand to meet his personal tastes, and his combat hardsuit had barriers strong enough to repel fire from any conventional small-arms. He had been trained to the highest standard of any Systems Alliance military personnel, then had spent the better part of a decade learning from experience in combat operations across the frontier of Alliance space.

It would have been unfair if Shepard had been alone and half-asleep. He wasn't. He had two Alliance marines, one a biotic, a centuries-old krogan battlemaster and a veteran C-Sec officer with him. In analogical terms, a woodchipper meeting a meringue would be an apt comparison.

Shepard swept through the doorway, barely wincing as a shot bounced off his shields. He twitched his aim by a few degrees and pumped the trigger three times rapidly. A figure collapsed down behind the bar, clutching at its chest. A spray of bullets, blessed by inaccuracy born of panic, peppered the wall behind him as he moved further into the club. His HUD highlighted the shooter, crouching in a darkened alcove. The sound of his weapon was joined by the deeper report of Wrex's shotgun from behind him, the multiple impacts making the shooter jerk and spasm as he was thrown against the wall. Shepard booted a chair out of his way and ducked behind a table, giving his rifle's heat-sink time to vent. He was aware of the others piling in after him, Wrex implacably stalking over to the bar and vaulting it very deftly for someone so large. There was a low boom as the krogan emptied his weapon into the poor soul squirming in agony at his feet. Shepard caught a blue-shifted blue out of the corner of his eye: Alenko's biotics, which sent a pair of hostiles flying across the room into the open, where two quick and efficient bursts of fire from Williams put them down permanently.

A barricade of a few overturned tables blocked the way to the back rooms, several of Fist's men cowering behind them, occasionally popping up to fire sporadically at the attackers. Shepard plucked a grenade from his belt and lobbed it over the barricade. Two figures rose up and tried to scramble away from the explosive. Not fast enough to escape the blast, which threw them to the ground and out of view. Shepard rose up and shoved a few more chairs out of his way.

Movement. Right and up, on the dais above the bar. He swung his rifle up, but the hostile was already falling down, a chunk of it's head missing. He heard Garrus yell something from the doorway. Great. Now he'd have to thank him later. He ran up to the barricade and slammed a booted foot into one of the tables, knocking it aside. Three bodies lay there, burned and broken by the grenade blast. One made a feeble attempt to raise a weapon in a shaking hand. One trigger pull, and it dropped straight back down again.  
"Room clear!" he heard Williams call out from the far side of the club.

Shepard swung around the corner to the corridor leading to the back rooms and was greeted by a shotgun blast that his shields slapped aside. He returned the shot with three of his own, that took the krogan shooter through the shoulder. The bouncer howled and dropped his weapon, falling to one knee. Any other species would have fallen the rest of the way down, but the krogan roared, surged to his feet and charged instead. Two more bullets went through his chest, but they did nothing to slow the krogan's progress. Shepard let his rifle drop and whipped his knife from it's sheath, ducking left as the krogan reached him and stabbing his attacker savagely in the groin. The krogan roared in pain and stumbled, his leg collapsing beneath him. Before he could recover, Shepard was on him with a series of brutal stabs to the throat, opening a jagged gash through the primary artery. The krogan finally went down, twitching, sickly orange blood pumping freely from the wound.

The Commander re-sheathed the dripping knife and called out. "Clear!"  
Wrex stomped over to him. The mercenary was holding a drink he had somehow acquired for himself on his way through the bar. He threw the swirling liquid down his throat, eyeing the stricken krogan at Shepard's feet.  
"I like your work, Shepard," he growled, casually shattering his glass with a flex of his armoured fist.  
Shepard ignored him, scooping up his rifle. "Regroup! Over here!" he called to the others.  
"Fist will be in his office," said Wrex, giving his shotgun a quick look-over. "If he hasn't run already."

There would be no trouble with Fist, Shepard realised as he led the way into the man's office, rifle raised. The club's owner was still struggling into an obviously-expensive combat hardsuit he had clearly bought for the bragging rights only. He looked up with a panicked expression as they entered and snatched a pistol from his desk, almost tripping over the chair behind him as he backed away in terror.  
"Stay back! What do-"  
"Alenko, give him a nudge," Shepard ordered.  
The Lieutenant flicked out a hand and Fist was bowled over by a wave of biotic power. Shepard darted across the room and pinned Fist to the ground, ripping the man's weapon from his grip and tossing it away as he did so.  
"Wait! Don't kill me! I surrender!" Fist gibbered, trying to shrink away from the Commander.  
"I'm not gonna kill you," Shepard said coldly. "I need information: a quarian came to you looking to sell some intel. Where is she?"  
"What? The quarian? She's not here – I don't know where she is!"  
Shepard heard a heavy pair of feet crossing the room behind him, then Wrex's voice. "He's no use to you now – let me kill him."  
"Wait! Wait!" Fist shrieked. "I don't know where she is, but I know where you can find her!"  
Shepard twisted the arm he had a hold of. Fist yelled in pain.  
"Stop jerking me around, Fist! Where?"  
"She- she said she'd only deal with the Shadow Broker himself, so-"  
"Face-to-face?" Wrex snorted. "Impossible. Even I was hired through an agent. He's lying, let me kill him."  
"No! It was- she didn't know that! I told her I'd set a meeting up! But when she shows up, it'll be Saren's men waiting for her!"

Fist grinned smugly, as if he'd pulled off some intricate heist. As if he'd beaten them somehow. Wrong move. Shepard lifted him bodily and threw him into the nearest wall. Before Fist could fall down again, Shepard had him pinned against the wall, his knife, still slick with krogan blood, at Fist's throat.  
"This is you last chance to leave this room alive," Shepard warned him evenly. Before he could repeat his question, Fist finally answered it.  
"Here, on the ward!" Fist squeaked, squirming to get away from the knife. "Level twenty-two, four-oh-six block! Back alley behind the markets at sixteen hundred this afternoon!"  
"I know the place," Garrus said.  
"Good." Shepard stepped back from Fist, who slumped in relief. "You-"  
He was cut off as Wrex's weapon discharged. Fist, or what had until very recently been Fist, was thrown back against the wall and crumpled to the floor.  
"What are you doing?" Garrus started forward, took one look at what remained of Fist's head and thought better of it. Williams was slightly more forward in her objection.  
"Drop the gun, krogan," she ordered, stepping around to the krogan's front, staring him down over the top of her rifle.  
Wrex gave her a dismissive look. "The Shadow Broker paid me to kill him. I don't leave jobs half done."  
"I said-"  
"Stand down, Chief, we don't have the time!" Shepard interrupted her, raising a hand to wipe some gory remnant of Fist's face from his visor. "Vakarian, you know where this meet is? Then you take point, we've got-"  
Shepard checked the time on his omni-tool. His eyes widened.  
"Double-time it, people! Move! Now!"

* * *

The 'alleyway' was more of a crevice between two blocks of the ward. One wall was the back side of the markets. The other contained some thundering piece of machinery. There was a lot of background noise from both; perfect to mask the spoken details of shady deals. The only light came from lamps set into the walls high above, casting deep shadows from the piled up crates of refuse that had been discarded long ago. Again, perfect for the paranoid-minded.

Tali'Zorah lurked in one of the shadows. Lurked. Not the best word to use. 'Waited-in-a-state-of-nervousness-and-residual-panic' was a better description, but there wasn't a race in the galaxy that had a language in which there was a singular word for it. She glanced up and down the alley. Checked the time on her omni-tool. Took her pistol from her holster and examined it. Looked up and down the alley. Re-holstered the pistol. Checked the time. Rubbed the still-raw bullet wound in her side.

That was the part that had spooked her more than any other.

From childhood, it was drummed into every quarian that outside their sterile environmental suits, the entire galaxy was crawling with foreign bacteria that would overwhelm their weak immune systems and make them life-threateningly ill no matter how much they wanted a breath of fresh air for a change. She tried to not think about the hours of blind panic as she had stumbled through the wards until she had found that clinic. The doctor had patched her up well enough and she'd gotten away with little more than a slight fever for the last two days. But it had been a badly-unwanted reminder for those warnings.

The 'getting shot' part hadn't been too pleasant either.

And now she was here. About to make an exchange with criminals. How had she ended up here? One week ago, she had been enjoying the freedom of her Pilgrimage. Now she was on the Citadel with some data that people were prepared to kill her for and a gunshot wound. C-Sec wouldn't help her. The Fleet was too far away. She was alone. Before she could drift into melancholy, she shook herself and looked up and down the alley again. A turian was approaching from her right. She stepped forward to meet him.

As the turian walked up to her, he ran a look up and down her envirosuit that made her want to recoil. "Did you bring it?" he demanded.  
"Where's the Shadow Broker? Where's Fist?" she asked, trying to mask her mounting nervousness. Something was not right here. Granted, it had been a while since anything had gone right for her...  
"They'll be here." The turian reached a hand out and ran it down the side of the hood covering her helmet, then down her arm. "Where's the evidence?" he asked, slipping his hand under her arm, to her waist. She slapped it away.  
"No way, the deal's off."  
The turian cocked his head at her. Then he looked over to his left and nodded. Tali followed his gaze. Two armoured figures stepped out of the shadows and advanced on her. One powered up its omni-tool, the ominous orange glow lighting the scene. The turian stepped to her other side, folding his arms and leering at her.

Tali didn't wait to see whether they were simply planning to show her an amusing extranet vid, instead snatching the concussion grenade from a pocket of her suit and throwing it at the feet of the pair of new arrivals and dodging around the turian, who tried to grab her and missed. She heard the grenade go off and a pair of pained yells. Her path to freedom was barred by a flight of stairs, leading upwards. No cover. A vision of being shot in the back as she tried to flee rose in her mind. Instead, she ducked behind a conveniently-placed shipping crate and drew her pistol. She peered around the edge of the crate and flinched as a shotgun blast glanced off the metal, centimetres from her visor.

She swung her pistol up and aimed at the turian, who was advancing on her, pumping the slide on his weapon. She squeezed the trigger three times as rapidly as she could. The first two shots bounced off the turian's shields, but the third was only deflected, tearing through his left mandible. He roared in pain and fired his weapon again, making Tali dodge back behind the crate.  
"You quarian bitch!" she heard him shout. "When I get my hands on yo-"  
He was cut short by another burst of gunfire, but not from Tali. Her attacker jerked and dropped to the ground.

Tali looked up at the top of the stairs. A new armoured figure, a different species to her assailants, was advancing down them, snapping off shots from an assault rifle in its arms, apparently not worried by the return fire that ricochetted from it's shields. Halfway down, the figure jumped, landing at the bottom of the stairs with a heavy thump. It let off a few more shots as it side-stepped over to where Tali was standing. It flattened it's back against the crate and looked over at her through an opaque, reflective visor. It nodded to her. She nodded back. She had no idea who this human – she realised – was, but he wasn't trying to kill her, which was better than nothing. The human plucked a grenade from the waist of his hardsuit and nonchalantly tossed it over his shoulder. There was an explosion and the gunfire slackened.

Another gunshot from the stairs. Then several more as four more figures in armour appeared and poured gunfire onto the last of Tali's attackers. It was over in seconds.  
"All hostiles down!" one of them called out.  
"Just the way I like 'em," another – a krogan – said.  
As they walked down to where Tali was standing, slightly shell-shocked from the suddenness of her rescue, one of them – another human - pulled off her helmet and wiped her brow.  
"Shit, Commander," she said, breathing heavily. "Were you a professional sprinter before you joined up?"  
The human standing next to Tali ignored the question and addressed her in a naturally-reassuring baritone. "Are you okay?"  
"I'm fine. I know how to handle myself. Not that I don't appreciate the help – who are you?" she replied.  
"Commander Shepard, Systems Alliance special forces," the human said promptly. "I understand you have information relating to the geth attack on Eden Prime."  
Special forces. Military. Not a mercenary, then. Someone who was probably more trustworthy than the criminals she'd been dealing with previously.  
"Then I have a chance to repay you for saving my life," Tali said. "But not here – we should go somewhere safe."  
"We'd better take her to the embassy," the other male human said. "The Ambassador will want to see this evidence for himself."  
'_Embassy? Ambassador? Keelah, what have I gotten myself into?_'  
"This way." the Commander gestured up the alleyway. "Let's get out of here before C-Sec show up."

He led the way through the maze of passageways to the elevators to the presidium. None of them put away their weapons, drawing many startled looks from the crowds on the wards. There was a large queue to the elevator, but Shepard simply walked straight past it. A turian stepped into his path.  
"Who the hell do you think you are?" he demanded.  
"Someone considerably better armed than you," Shepard retorted menacingly. "Now move."  
The turian took a look at the group of armed individuals flanking the Commander and backed down. When the elevator arrived, the group of passengers froze in terror before Shepard irritably waved them on out. As they filed in, the Commander held up a hand and shook his head at the people who tried to follow them in. One of them – the irate turian – swore at him. Shepard ignored him.

As the elevator started to move, Tali let herself relax. Safe. For the moment. Well, as safe as you can be in a confined space full of well-armed total strangers.  
"I'll be having that rifle back now, Vakarian," Shepard said as they began to stow their weapons. The turian collapsed the sniper rifle he was holding and passed it to the Commander.  
"Shame," he said wryly. "We were getting along beautifully."  
Shepard clipped the rifle to his hardsuit, then walked over to the wall next to where Tali was standing and leant back against it. He removed his helmet, letting it dangle from his hand, and rested his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. Then he seemed to remember something and opened them again.  
"I just realised – I didn't get your name," he said to Tali.  
"Tali," she told him. "Tali'Zorah nar Rayya."  
"Nice to meet you," Shepard said. "This is Lieutenant Alenko, Gunnery Chief Williams, Garrus Vakarian and Wrex," he said, introducing the others.  
"Urdnot Wrex," the krogan rumbled. "Seeing as you didn't ask, human. Didn't realise this would be a meet-and-greet."  
"It's called being polite, krogan," Williams said. "You ever try it before?"  
"No."

There was a long, awkward pause, during which it seemed everyone present was trying their best to avoid looking at each other. Shepard had leant back on the wall and closed his eyes again.  
"So," Alenko said to Tali, breaking the silence. "What information do you have, exactly?"  
Before she could answer, Shepard held up a finger. "Not here. Wait 'til we get to the embassy."  
"Paranoid much, Commander?" Williams said.  
"_Who_ had to tackle an assassin earlier, Chief?" Shepard asked pointedly.  
"Fair enough," Williams admitted. "I can't wait to see the look on the Ambassador's face when we tell we actually got some evidence," she added smugly.  
"I'm more worried about the look on his face when we tell him we got into three firefights, killed more than a dozen people and attacked a nightclub," Alenko said.  
"Hmmm," Shepard droned. "When you say it like that, it does make us sound just a little crazy." He opened his eyes and tilted his head to shoot a look at Tali. "We're not, by the way," he said. "Honest."


	9. Ricochet

**Chapter 9: Ricochet**

Anderson was already there when Shepard led the way into the Ambassador's office. Udina himself was standing with his back to them as they entered. Whether through extra-sensory perception or the nod that Anderson gave him, Udina knew it was him and started to shout.  
"Firefights in the wards! An all-out assault on Chora's Den! Shepard, which part of-"  
The ambassador turned around and stopped dead. He remembered sending a single officer to follow up on a lead. He was now confronted with three Alliance marines, a turian C-Sec officer, a krogan mercenary and a quarian.  
"Shepard," he said in a very, _very_ calm voice as he sank into his chair. "What have you done?"  
So Shepard told him what had happened. The assassin; the meeting with Harkin, the shoot-out at the clinic, recruiting Wrex, attacking Chora's Den, Fist's interrogation and subsequent execution and saving Tali'Zorah from Saren's men.

There was a long, long pause as everyone digested the Commander's story.

Udina's head slipped down into the palms of his hands.  
"Shepard," he said hoarsely. "Do you know how many laws you've broken in the last few hours?"  
"All of them?"  
That did it. Williams let out a snigger. Udina slammed his fist down onto his desk.  
"This is not a joke, Commander!" Udina bellowed. "When this gets out, C-Sec will want your head! And I am seriously considering giving it to them!"  
"Go ahead," Shepard said dismissively. "I can justify everything under 'self-defence'."  
"_Self-def-_" Udina sputtered. "Shepard, you launched an all-out assault on a _nightclub_!"  
"_Aggressive_ self-defence?" Shepard suggested flippantly. He was actually starting to enjoy himself. He idly wondered if he could drive the Ambassador to a full-on heart attack.

Udina took a deep, calming breath. Probably not, then. Ah, well.

"Commander, have you ever heard of subtlety? Decorum?"  
"No time for either," he replied firmly. "We had to move fast. We came within moments of losing the evidence as it was."  
"Ah yes, evidence. May I assume you actually found some in your little rampage?"  
"You may," Shepard informed him coolly. He turned to Tali and gestured her forward. "I think it's about time you told us what you found."  
"I was-" she managed to say before Udina cut her off with a raised hand.  
"Let's start at the beginning, please, miss...?"  
"Tali. Tali'Zorah nar Rayya."  
Shepard heard Williams mutter to Alenko, "try fitting that on a business card."  
"We don't see many quarians here. Why did you leave the Flotilla?" Udina asked.  
"I was on my Pilgrimage – my rite of passage into adulthood."  
"Pilgrimage?" Shepard asked. "Is that a religious thing?"  
"No, it's a tradition all quarians go through when they reach adulthood," Tali said. "We have to leave the ships of our birth and find a place on a new ship, among a new crew. In order to-"  
Udina interrupted her again. "Shepard, perhaps your curiosity for alien culture could be satisfied at a later date?"  
"Fair enough," Shepard admitted. "Sorry," he added. To Tali, not the Ambassador.  
"How did you come by this evidence?" Udina asked.  
"During my travels, I heard rumours of geth activity. It's been over two hundred years since the geth were last seen outside the Veil; I was curious.  
"I tracked a patrol of geth to a remote world, waited for one unit to separate from the others, then disabled it and retrieved it's memory core. Most of the core was wiped clean, but I salvaged something from it's audio banks."  
She brought up her omni-tool and fiddled with the controls. A familiar voice echoed around the room.

"_-uman colony on Eden Prime. A prothean beacon, that may bring us one step closer to finding the Conduit_."

"That's Saren's voice!" crowed Anderson. "This proves he was involved in the attack!"  
Shepard nodded in agreement. It was unmistakeably the same imperious voice they had been treated to at the hearing. "What's this 'Conduit' he's talking about?" he asked.  
"It must be connected to the beacon," Anderson said. "Some prothean technology maybe? A weapon of some kind?"  
"Wait, there's more," Tali said, regaining everyone's attention. "Saren wasn't working alone." She resumed the recording and a new voice spoke, one that was more feminine and refined.

"_And one step closer to the return of the Reapers_."

"I don't recognise that voice," Anderson said. "Anyone else?"  
He glanced around at the group, who all shook their heads.  
"We know it's an asari, at least," Shepard murmured, mostly to himself.  
"Well, a voice like that, it was hardly going to be a krogan," said Williams.  
"She could be human," Alenko suggested.  
"Nope," Shepard said flatly. "Not when she's speaking perfect Galactic in an accent reminiscent of the asari core worlds." He said it distantly. There was something nagging at the back of his mind, as if he was on the cusp of recalling some desperately-needed memory. "Reapers..." Shepard murmured to himself. "Why does that sound familiar?"  
Tali answered him. "According to the geth's memory core, the Reapers were a hyper-advanced machine race that lived fifty thousand years ago. They hunted the protheans to total extinction and then they vanished. At least, that's what the geth seem to believe," she added, apparently realising the enormity of her claim.  
Shepard winced suddenly as one of the beacon's images flashed through his mind.

_The sky split asunder, a monolithic form descending, exuding sanctimony-_

"Sounds a little far-fetched," Udina was saying.  
"Maybe not," Shepard said distantly, still trying to blink the after-image from his sight. "The vision on Eden Prime; I understand it now. I saw the protheans being wiped out by the Reapers."  
"Vision?" Vakarian asked from behind him. Tali also cocked her head at him, managing to convey a quizzical look through a translucent visor.  
"It's a long story," Shepard told them.  
"No it isn't," Williams contradicted him. "The Commander got zapped by some prothean device on Eden Prime, and now he's seeing things, that's all."  
Shepard sighed. "Thanks, Chief."  
"The Council's just going to love this," Udina muttered.  
"We have to tell them," Anderson said. "Whether they believe us or not, it's too important. Regardless, this proves Saren is a traitor."  
"You're right, Captain. We have to present this to them immediately." Udina held out a hand to Tali. She slipped a hand into a pocket of her suit, took out an OSD and handed it to him.  
"Anderson, you-"  
"Say thank you," Shepard scolded him.  
Udina glared at him before turning back to Tali. "Thank you," he said curtly, before turning back to Shepard. "Would you like to critique my manners any further, Commander?"  
"Best not. We'll be here all day, otherwise," Shepard replied. This was just _too_ easy.  
Udina ignored the remark. "Anderson, you come with me and help me get this organised. Shepard, you and your... associates can wait here until I call you up to the Tower. And try not to shoot anything. Do you think you can manage that?"  
"No promises."  
Udina and Anderson walked out, the Captain clapping a hand to Shepard's shoulder as he passed.

The doors closed behind them.  
"Jerk," Shepard said contemptuously.  
"Who, the Captain?" Williams asked jokingly.  
"The Ambassador," Shepard said, dropping his helmet on the man's desk. "Least diplomatic diplomat I've ever had the misfortune to meet."  
"It's understandable," Alenko pointed out fairly. "We've been nothing but trouble for him since we showed up."  
Shepard walked around the desk, dropped himself into Udina's chair and propped his booted feet up on the desk.  
"What, exactly, do you think he was expecting when he took the job, Lieutenant? Sunshine and rainbows? Can't take the heat, get out of the fusion reactor."  
"With all due respect, Commander, he probably wasn't expecting an Alliance Spec. Ops. marine to shoot up a nightclub."  
"I'm never going to hear the end of that, am I?" Shepard asked irritably. "It's not like I - _we_ - did it on a whim."  
"Why did you attack a nightclub?" Tali asked curiously.  
"Chora's Den," Shepard explained. "How did you think we knew where to find you?"  
"Oh. Right. So, what happened to Fist?" she asked.  
Williams snorted. "Ask the trigger happy lizard over there," she said disgustedly.  
Wrex stretched out his head, looking amused. "Trigger happy?" he said mockingly. "Is that what you humans call it when you do exactly what you were paid to do?"  
"You really don't like the Ambassador, do you, Commander?" Alenko asked, more to head off the brewing fight than anything else.  
"Nope," Shepard replied baldly. "I dislike him even more than I dislike everyone else I meet."  
"Oh great," Williams said amusedly. "LT, our XO's a misanthrope."  
"It saves time," Shepard said. As he did so, he turned the Ambassador's computer on and brought up his omni-tool. He started examining the terminal closely, tapping at his omni-tool as he did so.

"Commander," Alenko said after a few moments, "what are you doing?"  
"I am hacking into the Ambassador's computer, Lieutenant," Shepard answered matter-of-factly, not looking up from his omni-tool.  
"Can I ask why, Commander?" the Lieutenant asked bemusedly.  
"Because it's either this or shoot up the office, and he told me not to do that."  
"You do realise there's a C-Sec officer standing right over there?" The Lieutenant nodded at Vakarian.  
Shepard looked up. "Good point. Hey, Vakarian, could you look the other way for a bit?"  
The turian smirked. "No need," he replied. "If I was bothered about arresting you, I probably should have done it several times over by now."  
"Shouldn't you be heading back to the Academy?" Alenko asked him. "I'm sure your superiors will interested in what you've been doing."  
"I want to see how this turns out first." Vakarian shrugged. "The paperwork'll keep for a bit longer."  
Shepard glanced up from his illicit work again. "And why are you still here, Wrex? Don't you have your pay to collect?"  
Wrex shrugged, the armour plating on his shoulders scraping against each other. "I can collect whenever. I'd like to see what comes out of this. Should be fun."  
"Right. Fun. Of course."  
Nobody spoke for a while, the silence only broken by Shepard tutting to himself as he worked. Apparently, the Ambassador wasn't keeping up-to-date on the latest OS patches. He'd have to raise such a security concern with Alliance Intelligence. Eventually.

"So, Williams: Who'd win in a fight between you and Shepard?"  
That prompted an array of stunned looks. Even Shepard glanced up, eyebrow raised. Wrex didn't seem to notice.  
"What?" Alenko asked in disbelief.  
"Is it usual for krogan to size up everyone they meet for a fight? Even friends and allies?" Tali asked in a similar tone.  
"Yes," Wrex replied simply. "So come on, Williams: you or Shepard?"  
"Commander Shepard is my superior officer; we would never have to fight," Williams said dismissively.  
Wrex grunted. "What do you think, Shepard? You or-"  
"Me," said Shepard, not looking up from his omni-tool.  
Wrex chuckled. "You see, Williams? _That_ is why Shepard is your superior officer."  
"Barbarian," Williams muttered.  
"What about you, Alenko?" Wrex continued, seemingly eager to match everyone up to the Commander.  
"I am not having this conversation," the Lieutenant said.  
"Shepard?" Wrex asked.  
"Me."  
"What about Vakarian?"  
Shepard actually took the time to look the turian up and down before saying, "me."  
"The quarian?"  
"Not sure."  
"And- what?" Wrex asked, completely wrong-footed.  
"Wait, hold up," Williams said incredulously. "Go back to the part where you said you could take all of us, but not her."  
Shepard looked up and shrugged. "Never actually fought a quarian before," he said. "I'd hate to be caught off-guard by underestimating anyone." He shot a glare at Tali. "Don't get any ideas, though."  
"Um... Okay, I... won't?" she replied, nonplussed.  
"And what about me, Shepard?" Wrex asked in a low, menacing tone. Shepard looked over at the krogan. Their eyes met and for a moment, the air was filled with tension as they each sized the other up.

"Me."  
Shepard went back to work, heedless of Wrex's continued glaring.  
"Care to back that up, human?" Wrex asked.  
Shepard's fingers danced over the Ambassador's terminal, prompting a beep. "Not really," he said. The computer finally yielded to his coaxing, granting him access. He swung his feet off the desk and started browsing the multitude of files.  
"Commander, is that really a good idea?" asked Alenko.  
"I like to stay up-to-date on current affairs," Shepard said airily.  
"Most people watch news channels," said Williams.  
"Me and and 'most people' are not on speaking terms," Shepard said, flicking through some boring details of trade negotiations. Maybe he should install a backdoor while he was here, just in case...

His omni-tool beeped. A new message popped up. It was short and to the point. Regretfully, he shut down the computer and stood, scooping up his helmet.  
"Let's go," he said, making his way to the door. "We've got an emergency date with the Council."

* * *

Shepard nodded to Anderson, trying to fend off a feeling of deja vu as he mounted the last steps to the Council chamber. They walked out onto the suspended platform, where Udina was positively radiating smugness.  
"... _on Eden Prime_," the recording was saying, "_a prothean beacon, that may bring us one step closer to finding the Conduit_.  
"_And one step closer to the return of the Reapers_."  
"You wanted proof? There it is." Udina seemed to be enjoying himself. He clearly liked being able to get one up on the Council.  
'_Can't say I blame him..._'

The Council members started to debate quietly amongst themselves, leaving the humans waiting below them. Finally, the turian Councillor gave a reluctant nod to the others and stepped up to his podium.  
"This evidence is irrefutable, Ambassador," he said grudgingly. "Saren will be stripped of his Spectre status, and all efforts made to bring him in and make him answer for his crimes."  
Udina smirked.  
"I recognise the other voice on the recording," the asari Councillor said. "Matriarch Benezia." There was a slight tone of disbelief in her voice.  
"Who is she?" Udina demanded.  
"Lady Benezia is a powerful biotic, with many followers within asari society. If she has truly joined Saren in his... activities, she will make a formidable ally for him."  
'_Asari, then_,' Shepard thought. '_Totally called it first_.'  
"I am more interested in these 'Reapers'," the salarian Councillor said. "What do you know of them?" he asked.  
"Only what was extracted from the geth's memory core," Anderson replied. "The Reapers were a race of highly advanced machines that wiped out the protheans fifty thousand years ago, before vanishing completely."  
"And do we know what this 'Conduit' is?"  
"Does it matter?" Shepard said. "If Saren thinks he can use it to bring back a race of genocidal A.I.'s, it can't be anything good."  
"Listen to what you're saying!" the turian Councillor scoffed, "'Saren wants to bring back the machines that destroyed all life in the galaxy'? Impossible! It has to be!  
"Where did the Reapers go? Why did they vanish? Why is it we've found no trace of their existence?"  
When he put it like that, it did sound just a little ridiculous. But even as he thought it, Shepard felt a... not exactly a pain, but a sensation in the back of his mind, a flash across his vision and a surge of indignant anger.

"This talk of 'Reapers' is beside the point," Udina suddenly declared. "I demand to know what the Council proposes to do about a rogue Spectre preying on human colonies!"  
"Saren has been stripped of his position," the turian Councillor reiterated. "He no longer has the rights and resources of a Spectre-"  
"That is not good enough!" Udina interrupted him angrily. "You know he's hiding somewhere in the Traverse, send your fleet in!"  
"A fleet cannot track down one man," the salarian Councillor said coolly.  
"A Citadel fleet could secure the entire region – keep the geth from attacking any more of our colonies!"  
"Or it could trigger a war with the Terminus Systems!" the turian Councillor said. "We won't be dragged into a galactic confrontation over a few dozen human colonies!"  
"Same old, same old," Shepard muttered.  
"Shepard's right!" Udina shouted, quite possibly for the first and last time. "I'm sick of this Council and it's anti-human bull-"  
"Ambassador!"

Shepard sighed and turned away from the ensuing argument, with the Ambassador making ever more furious demands and accusations, the turian Councillor stonewalling each and every one and the other Councillors and Anderson trying to placate both sides and failing utterly. He folded his arms, resting them on the railing that bordered the platform. He knew what the logical solution to the situation was, but it sometimes seemed that logic and politics were almost entirely mutually exclusive. It wasn't about doing the right thing or the wrong thing or even the sane thing, as long as you looked good to the folks back home.

It was so much easier being a soldier: go here, do this, try not to get dead. Until you try too hard and end up a _hero_. Then-

"Shepard!"  
Shepard looked around. Everyone appeared to be staring at him. He pushed himself off the railing.  
"Yes?"  
Udina glowered at him. "Shepard, have you been paying attention?"  
"No." He shrugged. "Politics," he added, by way of explanation.  
Udina looked set to throttle the Commander, but before he had the chance, the asari Councillor spoke up. "Commander Shepard, the Council," she said, shooting a look at her turian counterpart, "has decided to offer you the position of Spectre. Are you willing to accept?"  
"Not really."  
"In that case, it is the- wait, _what_?" the Councillor gasped.

Shepard felt Udina grab him by the arm. "Excuse us for a moment, Councillors," he said, before pulling off a minor miracle by dragging the Commander, armour and all, off the platform. Around him, Shepard could hear the shocked murmuring of the small crowd of onlookers. Udina dragged him over to the spot where they had discussed the outcome of the earlier hearing scant hours ago and rounded on him. By the look on his face, Shepard gauged that maybe Udina would have that heart attack after all.

"What the _hell_ are you playing at, Commander?"  
"I was answering the good Councillor's question," Shepard replied innocently as Anderson and the others joined them.  
"Shepard, you can't be serious!" Anderson said. "Humanity needs-"  
Shepard held up his hands and cut him off. "In case no-one's been paying attention: I was only told about this yesterday and that's the first time _anyone_ has asked my opinion on the matter."  
The Captain sighed and turned away, burying his head in his hands. He, at least, had realised what Shepard's game was. Udina, on the other hand, didn't know the Commander nearly as well.  
"Shepard, I _order_ you to-"  
"You can't _order_ me anything, Ambassador," Shepard retorted. "Taking orders from politicians is exactly what I don't want."  
"Shepard, if you don't do this," Udina growled menacingly, "then don't expect me to bail you out when C-Sec comes looking for you for all the trouble you caused today!"  
Shepard cocked his head at the Ambassador. "Oh, so now it's blackmail, is it?"  
"Shepard," Anderson said, "you'll make a great Spectre-" The others present nodded in agreement, barring Wrex and the Ambassador.  
"Yeah. I know," Shepard admitted. "I just don't-".  
"And I distinctly remember you complaining about how being the Normandy's XO pulled you away from field work-"  
"Oh, alright then," Shepard sighed, throwing up his hands in mock surrender. He brushed his way past the others, who looked confused at his sudden change of heart, and walked back up to the platform, leaving the still-seething Udina in his wake.

The Commander took his position in front of the Council and clasped his hands behind his back.  
"Sorry about that, Councillors. I've changed my mind. Apparently," he added.  
"Are you sure about that, Shepard?" The turian councillor sneered at him. "Indecisiveness is not a looked-for quality in a Spectre."  
"_Oh great, I can see we'll be getting along just famously,_' Shepard thought. What he said was: "Quite sure."  
"Very well," the asari Councillor said, before her turian colleague could respond. "It is therefore the decision of the Council that you be granted all the powers and privileges of the Special Tactics and Reconnaissance branch of the Citadel Council."

There was an excited buzzing from around the Chamber. Out of the corners of his eyes, Shepard noted onlookers moving to the edge of the balconies that overlooked the audience platform.  
As if rehearsed (which it probably was, in Shepard's opinion), the Councillors began to speak.  
"Spectres are not trained, but chosen. Individuals forged in the fire of service and battle; those whose actions elevate them above the rank and file."  
"Spectres are an ideal. A symbol. The embodiment of courage, determination and self-reliance. They are the right hand of the Council; instruments of our will."  
"Spectres bear a great burden. They are protectors of galactic peace, both our first and last line of defence. The safety of the galaxy is theirs to uphold."

As speeches went, Shepard had to admit it wasn't one of the worst ones he'd ever heard. Short and sweet; straight to the point; a minimal amount of pretentious bullshit. Although he did resent being referred to as an 'instrument'.  
'_Protector of galactic peace..._' It was a hell of a job description.  
"You are the first human Spectre, Commander," the asari Councillor finished. "This is a great accomplishment for you and your species."  
"Thank you, Councillor," he replied, trying to sound respectful.  
"We're sending you into the Traverse after Saren," the salarian Councillor said. "He's a fugitive from justice, so you are authorised to use any means necessary to apprehend or eliminate him."  
"Understood. I'll find him."  
"This meeting is adjourned."

Shepard took one backward step, then turned on his heel and strode off.

A month ago, he had been worried by the thought of being all but forced into a ship-board position and being bogged down in administrative work, never to set foot on a battlefield for the rest of his career. Now he was apparently expected to go off alone to take down a entire army of synthetics and their leader, who was meant to be the best of the organisation he had just joined. And he never had to worry about disciplinary action ever again.

There had to be some _serious_ bad karma up ahead.

'_Bring it_.'

* * *

A/N: This Chapter, Abridged:  
Shepard: U mad, Udina?  
Udina: *OUTRAGE*  
Shepard: trololol


	10. Logistics

**Chapter 10: Logistics**

Anderson stepped forward first.  
"Congratulations, Commander," he said, shaking Shepard's hand warmly, a proud smile on his face. Udina, on the other hand...  
"May I assume you're quite finished with the theatrics, Shepard?"  
Shepard considered for a moment. Then he held up a hand, fingers splayed, cupping an imaginary object.  
"Alas, poor Yorick," he said, entirely deadpan. "To be or not to be, and suchlike."

Stares. So many nonplussed stares.

He let his hand drop. "Yeah, I'm done."  
Apparently, the Ambassador decided to deal with this display by immediately purging it from his memory.  
"We have a lot of work to do, Commander," he mused. "You'll need a ship, a crew, supplies... Anderson, come with me; I want a word."  
The Captain gave Shepard a parting nod and followed Udina as he walked off.

Shepard turned to the motley crew he had assembled.  
Vakarian was the first to speak. "Well. That was... interesting."  
"I'll say!" Williams exclaimed.  
"You never said you were a Spectre candidate, Shepard," Vakarian said accusingly.  
"Surprise?" Shepard said, shrugging as did so.  
"You weren't being serious, were you, Commander?" Alenko asked. "You wouldn't really have turned it down?"  
"I certainly was," he replied.  
"Really?"  
"No."

Shepard looked around at their mixture of stunned and amused faces.  
"I knew they'd never have let me get away with it," he explained. "All anyone had to do was _ask_. Just once. That's all."  
"Just... let me get this straight, Commander," Vakarian said, still shaking his disbelievingly. "You tried to turn down becoming a Spectre _just_ to annoy your ambassador?"  
"Certainly not," Shepard said in an aggrieved tone. "That would be behaviour most unfitting for an officer of the Systems Alliance military. It was a matter of principle."

Nobody looked convinced by his assertion.

"Right..." Vakarian said doubtfully. "Well, I suppose I'd better go and take of that paperwork." He made a pained expression as he held out a hand to Shepard, who shook it. "Good luck, Commander. When you find Saren, give him one from me, okay?"  
"Will do, Vakarian. Thanks for your help."

As the C-Sec officer walked away, Shepard turned to the other two aliens present.  
"I suppose while I'm in a good mood, I can thank the pair of you, too," he said. "Tali, for the evidence. Wrex." He nodded at each of them in turn. "What do you plan to do now?"  
Almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth, Tali jumped in.  
"You saw me in the alley, Commander; you know I can handle myself. Let me come with you!"  
It was a good thing eagerness doesn't radiate in the visible light spectrum or Shepard may well have been blinded.  
"Seriously?" he asked. "You've known me for..." He checked the time on his omni-tool. "Just less than an hour, and you want to come and help me track down a rogue Spectre? What about your Pilgrimage?"  
"The Pilgrimage is supposed to prove that we are willing to give of ourselves for the greater good," Tali said, in a tone suggesting it was a memorised sentiment. "What does it say about me if I turn my back on this? Saren is a danger to the entire galaxy. My Pilgrimage can wait."  
Shepard hesitated. That... was a hell of a speech. She was either a really good liar, or hopelessly naïve. He wasn't sure which was worse. Or maybe he was just being cynical.  
"Okay," he said as kindly as he could manage. "No offence meant, but I'm military special forces. You're a civilian. How exactly can you help me?"  
Tali didn't seem offended. In fact, she seemed just as eager to prove her worth. "My people created the geth," she said matter-of-factly. "I guarantee I know more about them than anyone outside the Flotilla."  
"Good point," Shepard admitted. He himself knew only as much about the geth as any other Extranet-crawler. The skirmishes on Eden Prime had been easy enough to bull through, but on a larger scale... know thine enemy.  
"A very good point," he said slowly. He nodded. "Alright, you're in. Welcome aboard."  
"Thanks," Tali said, almost bouncing on the spot with anticipation. "You won't regret this."  
'_It's not _me_ I'm concerned about._'

"And what about you, Wrex?" Shepard asked.  
The krogan tilted his head and gave Shepard that same calculating look he'd been given in Chora's Den.  
"Well," he said, "if you're recruiting..."  
"Really?" Shepard asked, surprised. "I can't afford to hire you, if that's what you mean."  
"A good fight is it's own payment, Shepard," Wrex said. "There's a storm coming. And you and Saren are right in the middle of it. When it arrives, I want to be there."  
"So you want to come along just because you think you'll get a good fight out of it?"  
"Yes."  
Shepard heard Williams mutter, "big surprise there."  
"Okay. You're in," Shepard said. He couldn't fault Wrex's reasoning: he was, after all, a krogan. And it would be ever-so-slightly hypocritical of himself. Not to mention that Wrex had almost certainly seen more battlefields than Shepard ever would; that kind of experience was invaluable.  
"And you two?" Shepard asked flippantly, turning to Alenko and Williams. "Want to go AWOL and come along as well?"  
"I'll have to pass, Commander," said Alenko.  
"Tempting, but no," Williams replied.  
"Suit yourselves," Shepard said. "Shall we?"

He led the way back down towards the elevators to the presidium. He only then became aware of the stares and whispers that followed him. He hoped they would die down soon enough. They filed into the elevator to the presidium and began the long descent.  
"So," Wrex said at length. "Spectre. How's it feel, Shepard?"  
Shepard shot him a confused look. "You know what?" he said. "Against all my expectations, I feel exactly the same as I did twenty minutes ago." He shrugged irritably. "What I am supposed to feel like?"  
"Well, aren't you supposed to be 'above the law' and all that?" said Williams.  
"So? What do you want me to do, go on a crime spree?"  
"I think that would just about finish the Ambassador off, Commander," Alenko said.  
"When do we get started?" Williams asked.  
Shepard's omni-tool beeped. The Commander brought it up and glanced at the message that popped up.  
"Speak of the Devil..." he muttered.

* * *

Udina was sitting at his desk, typing away at his terminal with a look on his face that suggested that the device had done some grievous personal harm to his character. As they entered, Udina snapped his head up and said, "just you, thank you, Commander."  
Shepard turned to his entourage and gestured them to the door. Williams rolled her eyes, but filed out with the others. He walked up to the desk and sat himself down in a chair. Udina finished whatever he was typing away at and glared over the desk at Shepard.

"I thought we should have a short discussion, Commander, about how you intend to conduct yourself in your new role."  
"I don't answer to you, Ambassador," Shepard said, with not-inconsiderable satisfaction.  
"No," Udina admitted through teeth gritted hard enough to crush a walnut. "But if you carry on as you've started today, it will reflect badly on humanity as a whole."  
"I don't care," Shepard said. "I'm not here to make anyone look good; I'm here to do the job."  
"And so am I!" Udina said heatedly. "_My_ job is to improve humanity's standing, and that includes reining in our loose cannons."  
"'Loose cannon'?" Shepard said coolly.  
"Yes. Whether you like it or not, Commander, you represent humanity and your every action reflects on all of us. _You_ make a mess, _I_ get stuck cleaning it up."

Shepard pretended to think deeply for a moment.  
"Sounds like the perfect arrangement to me, Ambassador."  
Udina sighed. "Not the answer I was hoping for, Shepard."  
"Deal with it."  
"I _am_. That's why we're having this discussion." Udina planted his palms on his desk and leaned towards Shepard. "Do you have _any_ idea how hard I had to fight for this, Shepard? Do you have _any_ idea how easily you could ruin twenty years' worth of progress?" The Ambassador's voice lowered to just above a growl. "I don't mind telling you that you were _not_ my first choice for this role, not since I was informed about that _mutiny_ charge on your record."  
"The charges, Ambassador," Shepard said sharply, "were solicitation, insubordination and assaulting a superior officer. And I was exonerated." He paused, them shrugged. "Although they did get me on 'conduct unbecoming', but no-one gives a damn about that, anyway."  
"No smoke without fire, Commander," said Udina. "Don't expect the Council to be as forgiving of your... style."  
"Look," Shepard said, in a somewhat conciliatory fashion. "Ambassador. I'm not planning to go out and make your life difficult. But if it comes down to getting the job done or avoiding 'making a mess', I know which to choose."  
"That... will have to do, Commander," Udina said tiredly, sitting back in his chair. "Just remember your loyalties: you were human long before you were a Spectre."

"Now, to business," Udina said. "Captain Anderson has agreed to step down as commanding officer of the Normandy; the ship is yours now."  
"Right," Shepard said uneasily. It made sense: the Normandy's stealth systems would be invaluable to him, he knew, but the Captain deserved better than to be shunted aside so easily.  
"He will be remaining here at the embassy to act as an attaché," Udina went on.  
Correction: _Much_ better.  
"Okay."  
"And you will continue reporting to Admiral Hackett on all matters regarding Alliance military business."  
"Good." Shepard kept his face carefully clear of the satisfaction he felt at that revelation.  
"Of course, you are expected to conduct your ship and yourself," Udina added a slight emphasis to that last word, "in a manner befitting the Alliance military."  
"Fine."  
"And although your duties to the Council will take precedence, we expect you to advance humanity's interests wherever possible."  
"No problem..."

* * *

Shepard stepped out of the Ambassador's office. The others were hovering just outside the door.  
"Well, what did he want?" Williams asked as they fell in beside Shepard as he led the way out of the Embassy.  
"Told me to be a good boy, not to make a mess, etcetera," Shepard said. "Also, he got me a ship."  
"Which one?"  
"The Normandy, as it happens."  
"Makes sense," Alenko said.  
"Then I guess we'll be joining you on your little turian-hunt, after all," Williams said.  
"What about the Captain?" Alenko asked as they exited the embassy.  
"Stepping down. I'm commanding officer now, best get used to it."  
"No problem here, sir," the Lieutenant said.  
"Just say the word, Commander," Williams chimed in.

"Commander Shepard?"  
Shepard looked around. An Alliance officer in dress blues, who had been lurking just outside the doorway, walked over to him. The officer rendered Shepard a salute, which he returned sharply. Something about him stirred up something in Shepard's memory.  
"At ease, Commander. Rear-Admiral-" he started to introduce himself.  
"Kahoku, right?" Shepard finished for him. "You headed up that operation in Tuorn, Hephaestus Mu a while back."  
The Admiral blinked in surprise. "You know about that?" he asked.  
"I was there," Shepard replied promptly. "Fifth Fleet SRC, 1st platoon."  
The Admiral nodded thoughtfully. "Special Recon.," he mused. His brow flickered in recognition. "I remember now; you were the one who demanded to be sent in after that lost platoon on Kell'Hao."  
"Yeah, that was me." Shepard smiled ruefully. "Back when I was too young and stupid to know better."  
"Stupid or not," Kahokua said firmly, "you got a lot of our people out alive."  
Shepard shrugged. "It's all part of the job, Admiral."  
Kahoku held out a hand and Shepard shook it. "It was damn fine work, Commander. Congratulations, by the way," he added. "First human Spectre. I know you're up to the task."  
"Thank you, sir."  
"It's about time we got one of our own into the Spectres," Kahoku went on. "We need people like you to deal with our... problems."  
Shepard felt able to reach out and pluck the hint from the air.  
"Any specific 'problem', sir?"  
Kahoku snorted, slipping a hand into his pocket. "Hmph, I'm getting stonewalled by bureaucratic assholes. Nothing new."  
"Anything I can do to help?" Shepard asked. "I could probably get away with a few... forceful requests."  
"As tempting as that sounds, Commander," the Admiral said, his lip twitching upwards, "I'm sure you have better things to be doing."  
"Well, if you're sure, Admiral. But I'm always happy to go above and beyond to upset a bureaucrat."  
Kahoku smirked again. "I don't doubt it." he held his hand out again. Shepard shook it. "Congratulations again, Commander. And good hunting. Carry on."  
The Admiral stepped back. He and Shepard exchanged a second salute and he departed.

"Do you know _everyone_ in the Alliance military, Commander?" Williams asked him.  
"Well, they all know me," Shepard replied. "It's only polite to return the favour."  
As they continued towards the elevator to the docks, Shepard clenched his hand around the OSD Kahoku had slipped into his palm at their second handshake.  
'_Interesting..._'  
Shepard surreptitiously secured the disc in a pouch at his waist.

"That sounded like a war story back there, Shepard," Wrex rumbled as they walked. "Feel like sharing?"  
"No," Shepard said distantly, mind still replaying the conversation with the Admiral, searching for any clues as to what the OSD was for.  
"Shame," the krogan said flatly. "And here I thought we were all supposed to get along."  
"To a point," Shepard said.  
"Come on, Commander," Williams said, "you've piqued our interest now."  
"It's not much of a story," Shepard said dismissively. "A platoon got pinned down in a hostile settlement, I took a team in and helped them hold out 'til reinforcements arrived. Nothing special."  
"The Admiral said you 'demanded'..." Williams went on.  
"I was bored and it sounded like fun," Shepard said. Wrex let out an approving grunt.

"Shepard! Commander Shepard!"  
Shepard snapped his head round towards the source of the shout. A familiar turian in C-Sec armour was approaching them.  
"Vakarian," Shepard greeted him as he reached them. "Something you need?"  
"You could say that," the C-Sec detective replied darkly.  
"How's the paperwork coming?"  
"Didn't even get to my desk," Vakarian scowled. "The Executor had me grabbed as soon as I got back to the Academy. We had a, uh, frank discussion. Mostly about _procedure_ and how I hadn't followed it."  
"How'd it go?"  
"Not well." The turian ran a hand over his fringe. "I've... probably just lost my job."  
"Why?"  
"I... walked out on him."  
"I see. So, what do you want from me?" Shepard asked. Entirely rhetorically, as it turned out.  
"You're going after Saren. I want to come along," Vakarian said. "I want to be there when you find him and make him pay for what he's done."  
"Why?"  
"Why?" Vakarian asked. His tone suggested that Shepard had just asked him what his problem was with cannibalism. "Why?" His expression contorted – as much as turian expressions could – in anger. "He is a traitor to the Council and a disgrace to my people! Why. Not?"  
Shepard nodded, unaffected by Vakarian's outburst. "Okay... and what makes you think I want you on my ship?"  
'Surprised' didn't quite catch the essence of Vakarian's reaction. He took half a step back, looking around at Shepard's group.  
"You're- you're kidding, right?" he asked. "You'd take a krogan and a quarian with you, but you won't take me?"  
"Not the best argument I've ever heard," Shepard said coldly. "This next one had better be good."  
The now-former C-Sec officer rallied pretty well, considering. "I was in the Hierarchy military before I joined C-Sec," he said, straightening up. "Recon ops and pirate suppression mostly. And I'd bet I'm a better shot than anyone in your crew-"  
'_I seriously doubt that_,' thought Shepard.  
"I can carry my own weight," Vakarian went on, "and you're going to need all the help you can get."  
Shepard considered for a moment. "Alright, you've made your case. Welcome aboard."  
"Thank you, Commander. You won't regret it. I just need to grab some things, first."  
"Make it quick, meet back here."

"Commander," Williams said after Vakarian had left, "with all due respect, the Brass isn't going to like you bringing a turian aboard an Alliance ship."  
Shepard grunted. "They've already got a list as long as my arm of things they don't like about me. One more can't exactly hurt."  
"The Brass doesn't like you?" Williams asked. "Can't imagine why."  
"It's a long story. And for your information, Chief: it's not my fault."  
"That so?"  
"Yes. It is," Shepard said firmly.  
_'Sort of,'_ he added in the security of his own mind.

* * *

**A/N**: Two. Damn. Months picking away at this chapter and I'm still not happy with it. It feels too short, but everytime I added more, it felt like padding. Decided I had to upload _now_, before I give up completely.

Wait, I have _a_ _review_? When did _that_ happen?

Alec McDowell: Yeah, I've kinda rushed through this first part. I do have some ideas for the future, though (if I ever get there).


	11. Cast Off

**Chapter 11: Cast off**

Another long elevator ride, the last one of the day, up to dock four-two-two, where the Normandy was waiting to receive the latest additions to her crew. Most of the elevator's occupants seemed content to pass the journey in silence.  
"So, Williams, you think you could take the turian?"  
"Not this _again_," the Chief groaned. "Drop it, krogan."  
Wrex let out a snort and kept mercifully quiet for the rest of the ascent.

The elevator slid to a halt and the doors opened soundlessly.  
"Dock four-two-two," the elevator VI's synthesised voice announced.  
They traipsed out onto the dock. The Normandy was waiting patiently for them, the faintly blue-tinged light from the Serpent Nebula sparkling off her hull.  
"That's your ship?" Tali asked Shepard, staring at the docked vessel. "Keelah – it's _beautiful_."  
"The SSV Normandy," Shepard said, surprised to hear a note of pride in his voice. "Isn't she a sight? Mind you," he added, "she'll probably be a lot less shiny by the time this is over."  
His eyes were drawn to a solitary figure at the end of the dock. It was leaning on the railing, taking in the view over the ward arms.  
"Go ahead and board," Shepard told the others. "I'll just be a minute."

He parted from them as they headed down the gangway to the ship's airlock, walking up to the end of the dock and settling himself against the railing.  
"Captain."  
"Commander."

"Good work today, Shepard," Anderson said after a few moments' silence.  
"I didn't really do all that much," Shepard said modestly. "It was Vakarian's lead that got us to the evidence. And we only had that because of Tali."  
"It only came together because of you, Shepard," Anderson said firmly. "Even when the Ambassador was prepared to dismiss me as obsessed, you wanted to keep trying. Thank you for that."  
Shepard nodded.

"So," he said at length, "the Brass decided to turn our finest ship over to the Council. That's going to make them some friends back home."  
"They may not like you, Shepard, but they know they need to support you regardless. You needed a ship. And the Normandy was the obvious choice."  
"Even if it means you stepping down."  
"Even then."  
Shepard sighed. "It's not-"  
"You're a Spectre now, Shepard," Anderson interrupted him. "You can't be double-checking every decision you make with an Alliance officer."  
"Yeah," Shepard said reluctantly. "Still doesn't seem fair, though, after your history with Saren."  
Anderson didn't answer. Shepard finally turned to look at him.  
"I think it's about time you came clean with me, sir."  
The Captain exhaled deeply.  
"About twenty years ago, I was on a mission with Saren out in the Traverse."  
"As part of your Spectre evaluation."  
"Yes." Anderson turned to Shepard. "Harkin," he said knowingly.  
"Harkin," Shepard said. "Was that why you didn't want me talking to him?"  
"Only partly – the man's still as unreliable as they come. Anyway, it doesn't matter now.

"I'll spare you the grisly details," Anderson said tiredly. "It's a long story and I don't feel like telling it right now. But all you need to know is that on that mission, Saren made sure I lost my chance at becoming a Spectre. And he let a lot of innocent people die along the way."  
Shepard looked back out over the vista before them.

"So?"  
He _felt_ Anderson's stern gaze on the side of his face as he went on. "That's war. Sometimes... you've gotta let a few go."  
"I know how the galaxy works, Commander," Anderson said stiffly, "I know sacrifices have to be made. But only if there's no other way. Those people – they didn't have to die. Saren didn't care. Mission accomplished, as far as he was concerned. He'd kill a thousand civilians to stop a war in an instant."  
"Maybe I would as well."  
Anderson shook his head. "No, you don't understand." He thought for a moment, then said, "if you had two levers to pull that would accomplish the same thing, but one of them would kill a thousand people in the process, Saren would reach for the one that was closest. He doesn't put any value on the lives of others. He's twisted, broken. He-"  
"How far apart are these levers?" asked Shepard.  
Anderson sighed and shook his head ruefully. "If anyone else were asking that, Shepard, I'd be worried. At least with you, I know it's just pedantry."  
"Thank you, sir."  
"Just," Anderson started, then hesitated before continuing. "Just be prepared for when you go after him, Shepard. He'll know you're coming. And he'll do whatever it takes to evade you. Or kill you. You can't let yourself go to those lengths to stop him. Make sure you don't- that you stop him, Shepard."  
Shepard chuckled hollowly. "Nice cover, sir. But we both know you were going to say something like 'that you don't _become_ him'."  
Anderson smiled grimly. "It's a valid concern, Commander. You've got a lot of power now: be careful how you use it."  
Shepard waved a hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, great responsibility and all that. I'll be fine, Captain. I'm sure the crew will comment if I become a deranged madman."  
"Not an impossibility, now you have Joker to deal with on a daily basis."  
They both chuckled, though not loudly or for long.

"Okay, enough lectures," Anderson said. "I've been given intel on some leads you should follow up on.  
"Firstly: our colony on Feros, Attican Beta cluster, went quiet shortly after Eden Prime. They made a distress call mentioning synthetics. It's probably related."  
"The Alliance sending anything out there?" asked Shepard.  
"No." Anderson frowned. "The Brass is playing it conservatively; Feros is too deep into the Traverse to risk a relief force getting pounced by a geth ambush. The Normandy's stealth systems should help you there."  
"Alright. What else?"  
"That asari matriarch on the recording, Benezia?" Anderson said. "She has a daughter – Doctor Liara T'Soni. Archaeologist of some kind. We don't know whether she's involved, or even if she knows anything, but it couldn't hurt to find out. Maybe she can shed some light on why Benezia's joined up with Saren. Her last known whereabouts are the Artemis Tau cluster, working on some prothean ruins."  
"Okay. That everything?"  
"Everything – other than some other reports of geth activity, but the Alliance is responding to those."  
"Right."

They stood in silence for a while, admiring the view. Enjoying a moment of peace in a way only old soldiers can.  
"Well, I'd best get underway."  
"Of course, Shepard," Anderson said. "I'll be at the embassy for the foreseeable future if you need anything."  
"I heard," Shepard said. "I don't envy you in the slightest."  
They walked back down to the Normandy's gangway together.  
"Well," Anderson said, "good luck, Commander."  
He held out a hand. Shepard shook it.  
"Keep your luck, sir," Shepard replied. "If you're going into politics, you'll need it more than I do."  
Anderson smiled, but said nothing. They stepped back from one another, then Shepard came to attention and saluted sharply. Anderson returned it.  
"Carry on, Commander."  
Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode back down the dock to the waiting elevator.

* * *

"Hey Commander." Joker greeted Shepard as he stepped into the cockpit. "Heard what happened to Captain Anderson. Survives a hundred battles and gets taken down by back-room politics."  
"Welcome to the galaxy, Lieutenant," Shepard muttered.  
"Just watch your back, Commander. If things go wrong, you'll be next on the chopping block."  
Shepard grunted. "Let 'em try. I've got a tougher neck than most."  
"Yeah, well, so did the Captain. No offence."  
Joker tapped at some of his controls.  
"Comm's open," he said to Shepard. "If you've got something to say to the crew, now's the time."  
Shepard grimaced. "I'm not really a 'words' person," he said. "They know their jobs; they don't need patronising by me."  
"Right," Joker said awkwardly. "It's just that the Captain told the crew you'd address them when you got back."  
"Ah."  
"Also, when I said it was 'open', I meant, you know, right then."  
Shepard sighed. "I thought there was an echo in here."  
"_-cho in here,_" he heard his voice reverberating up from the CIC.  
"So..." Joker said, "you want me to close it?"  
Shepard waved his hand irritably. "No, no, I'm going to have to say something now. Just remind me to throttle you when I'm done, Lieutenant."  
"Aye aye, sir."

* * *

"_All hands, this is Commander Shepard_."  
Across the ship, crew members stopped shaking their heads at each other in amusement and looked up.  
"_We have our orders: find Saren before he finds the Conduit. I'm not going to lie; this isn't going to be easy. Saren has an army of geth, a ship bigger than anything in any fleet in the galaxy and he knows we're coming_."  
Several crew members swapped apprehensive glances.  
"_All we have is one small ship and this crew. That might not sound like much, but this is the finest ship in the galaxy and the best crew the Alliance has ever assembled. Trust her, trust each other, and there's not a thing out there that can stop us._  
"_Now, I don't make promises, but this is how this mission will go: Wherever Saren runs, we will hunt him. Wherever he hides, we will flush him out. Wherever the colony that he attacks next, we will be there to defend it. No matter how far we have to go – no matter if we have to follow to the ends of the galaxy – we __**will**__ hunt him down and stop him. To avenge those who have died, and for the sake of those we have sworn to protect.  
_"_That is all. Shepard out_."  
The crew turned back to their work, many of them with a little more grit to their expressions than they'd had previously.

* * *

"'Not a words person'," Joker quoted as he closed the comm. "You're such a kidder, Commander; that was a damn good speech. The Captain would be proud."  
"Words aren't going to stop Saren," Shepard said harshly. "Action is. There's nothing to be proud of until we have that bastard in our sights."  
He thumped the headrest of Joker's seat.  
"Take us out of dock, Joker. It's time to go hunting."  
"Yes, sir!"

* * *

Shepard punched the door panel and stepped though the door to the commanding officer's quarters. He threw a disbelieving look around the room. Apparently, the ship's designers hadn't been able to find anything else to fill up the space in this part of the ship; the room was not that much smaller than the medbay, and with none of the clutter of medical equipment to fill it. There was barely anything beyond the most basic furnishings: a work desk with integrated holographic display; a table, with two loose chairs – a zero-gee hazard if ever there was one; and a double bed. An actual double bed. Why exactly the designers thought the commanding officer needed a double bed was anyone's guess. Maybe they were worried the officer in question would get restless in the middle of their sleep cycle and want to roll over for the thrill of it.

It appeared Anderson hadn't taken the time to stamp his own mark on the place. Probably he'd had the foresight to know he'd be giving up the ship to Shepard soon enough. Or maybe he hadn't had many personal effects to bring aboard. Shepard sure as hell didn't. As he looked around, Shepard reflected that this was probably – hell, _certainly_ – the largest personal space he'd ever had.

There was a bag dumped on the floor by the door. A quick inspection revealed it contained Shepard's gear. The Captain must have had it moved over before he left. His uniforms, the few civvies he had, a nondescript box and little else. On an impulse, he flicked the box open and rummaged through it, counting under his breath. Twenty-three. All present and accounted for. He left the dress blues untouched – the damn things could rot, for all he cared – and pulled out a set of fatigues, laying them aside before beginning to strip off his hardsuit.

_'So... here you are. First human Spectre.'_

This was _not_ where he'd imagined he'd end up after being abruptly pulled from the field five weeks ago and reassigned to his first position of command aboard a ship. He'd had... strong words with a certain Admiral over that decision. Words he may now be forced to dine upon with a side of contrition.

He couldn't help but wonder why exactly he had been selected, out of all the thousands of operatives the Alliance had at its disposal.

_'The only real candidate,'_ Anderson had said.  
That made no damn sense. There were plenty of other marines who didn't annoy certain superiors as much as he did. Okay, he had a Star of Terra and a rep., but so did plenty of other N7's.  
_'You were **not** my first choice.'_  
Shepard snorted to himself. The Ambassador had probably had a fit when he'd seen his record. But was it Shepard's fault that the Alliance was ridden with officers who couldn't command a mouse into a trap?

Nihlus had seen the same record, but had come to the opposite conclusion. Strange, for a turian to apparently value a willingness to disrespect the chain of command. What had Nihlus been thinking? He'd never know, now. He felt a slight pang of regret at that.

And Anderson had said Hackett had supported him. Well, naturally. He and the Fifth Fleet's commanding officer went back a-ways. A fair few of Shepard's debriefs had involved the Admiral walking in and demanding to know why Shepard had blown up whatever it was he'd decided to blow up this time. They'd always ended with Hackett agreeing with Shepard's explanation. He was one of the few in the Brass who had started at the lowest rung of the career ladder. He knew what it was like to be in the shit without the security of a tac-screen to hide behind. And now he was the only officer in the Alliance military Shepard could be said to answer to. That was a blessing. He didn't think he could handle an Admiral who would feel the need to second-guess him at every step.

But it was the Council who'd actually said 'yes' and made him a Spectre.

He snorted again. He held no illusions: it wasn't in spite of his record, or because of his skill and expertise, or because his ruggedly handsome looks would look good in the holos. They'd said yes to shut the Ambassador up for a while.

Fine. He could live with that.

_'I'm sure you're up to the task.'_

A recent memory suddenly floated up in his mind and he retrieved the OSD Admiral Kahoku had slipped to him earlier. He tossed it onto the desk and finished redressing himself in his fatigues.

He picked up the disk and synced it to his omni-tool. There were only two files on the disk: a plain text file and a short vid. He patched it through to the room's main holo screen. Kahoku's visage flickered into visibility. The Admiral was standing with his back to a blank wall, the vid apparently shot from a handheld camera. As he spoke, the Admiral's eyes darted back and forth from the camera, to his surroundings and back again.

"_Commander Shepard_," Kahoku said, quickly but clearly. "_I apologise for the cloak-and-dagger approach I've been reduced to, but I couldn't send this message through official channels for reasons I'm afraid I'm unable to divulge_-"

Shepard paused the footage, his finger wandering absent-mindedly up to his scar. If the Admiral couldn't send a message through channels – encrypted Alliance channels – then this was either incredibly highly classified or incredibly illegal. Or both. He resumed the footage.

"_I know that you can be trusted. And right now, you're the only Alliance officer who can assist me._" Kahoku stopped his ceaseless observation of this surroundings to stare into the camera, the holographic reproduction boring into Shepard's eyes. "_I know that as a Spectre, you don't answer to me-_"

Shepard paused the footage again. That meant this vid had been recorded only minutes before their meeting on the Citadel. Either that or Kahoku had been in the loop on the whole Spectre candidate business, which was unlikely.

"_And it's that unaccountability I'm relying on. Two weeks ago, a recon team I had dispatched to a remote world went dark. When I tried to have a patrol sent out to investigate, I found the entire system had been flagged as level five restricted-_"

Another pause. Level five restricted was the second-highest warning flag the Alliance issued, just below 'under no circumstances'. Level five meant Alliance military special operations only, at the behest of a Fleet Admiral.

"_There is no explanation of why the system was flagged, or who issued the warning. Every request I make to reduce the flag is rebuffed._" Kahoku cast a nervous glance around. "_I have... a hunch on what may have happened – again, I can't give you the full details – and if I'm right, I can't risk going up the Alliance hierarchy-_"

Pause.

After a long moment, Shepard resumed the vid.

"_And that's where you come in, Commander. As a Spectre, the flag doesn't apply to you. You can get in there and find out what happened to my team. I've included the coordinates in the other file on this disk._" Kahoku's face turned even more solemn. "_I appreciate your Spectre duties take __precedence, Commander, and I wouldn't blame you if you find this as suspicious as all hell. If you don't want anything to do with this, just forget it and walk away. Otherwise... just remember these are your fellow marines out there. After two weeks, I'm not holding out much hope... but we leave no man behind. If you follow up on this, do not contact me through channels; just turn up to the Embassy lounge on the presidium at sixteen hundred hours. I'm there at that time every day._" Kahoku smiled a little. "_If you're still listening, I presume you're agreeing, Commander. If that's the case... then thank you. Good hunting._"

The vid ended.

A quick glance at the text file revealed the destination: Edolus, Sparta system, Artemis Tau cluster, followed by a set of latitude-longitude coordinates.  
'_Serendipity,_' Shepard thought. It wouldn't be too far out of his way when he was out searching for Doctor T'Soni. Not that the distance made any difference to Shepard. A few swift commands on his omni-tool later and the new destination was sitting on the Normandy's navigation computer.

Shepard sat down in the chair, propping his feet up on the desk. Less than a day into this 'Spectre' lark and already he was up to his eyeballs in something suspicious. He flicked a few possibilities through his mind: accident, a run-in with pirates, communications malfunction. All of which were regular occurrences out in the Traverse, but did nothing to explain the sudden increase in the system's flag.

Coincidence? Maybe.

'_Can't risk going up the Alliance hierarchy_.'  
'_Do not contact me through channels_.'

Kahoku clearly suspected that someone inside the Alliance had something to do with the disappearance. Someone who the Admiral was apparently afraid of catching onto this unofficial investigation.

'_I have a hunch_.'

So did he.

* * *

**A/N:** All together now: _dun-dun-duuun!_

This chapter was finished before the previous one - about a month before - and I actually like how it turned out.

And omigosh! _Another review!_ At this rate I might reach _**double digits**_ by the end!

**::darkerego:** Thanks! I'm not holding out much hope for masses of views, but I figure if at least one person keeps reading and enjoying, it's worth it! [/Optimism]


	12. Integration

**Chapter 12: Integration**

Shepard stood alone in the Normandy's comm room, reading over the files that the Alliance and the Council had sent over.

Feros: a small world on the fringes of Alliance space. Formerly a prothean-settled planet, it was now home to a small research colony, operated by ExoGeni corporation. The researchers had never discovered anything of any value, but if Saren and his geth had an interest in the place, maybe that had changed recently.

Artemis Tau: A star cluster deep within the Attican Traverse. Sparsely populated, only a minority of the planetary systems had ever been properly surveyed. The region was at the furthest reaches of the mass relay network. As such, it would take a single ship weeks to cover the entire cluster.

Liara T'Soni: asari archaeologist, specialising in prothean studies. Doctorate from the University of Serrice on Thessia. Not much else available, save the brief records of prothean artefacts she had recovered.

The door hissed open behind him. Alenko was the first in, closely followed by Engineer Adams and Navigator Pressly. The latter was the senior of the three, and now the Normandy's XO. Shepard hoped the man enjoyed donkey work better than he had.

"Stand easy," Shepard told them as they came in. "I suppose the first order of business is to find out if everyone's happy with the new arrangements."  
"If anyone has to take over from Captain Anderson, I'm glad it's you," Pressly said, to nods from the other two. "I'm sure the rest of the crew feel the same."  
"And the mission? Everyone's happy with that?"  
"We're tracking down the turian who butchered one of our colonies," Pressly said emphatically. "Of course we're happy."  
"It's got to be better than patrolling the Verge for pirates," Adams added.  
"We can only hope. Anything anyone's not happy about?" Shepard asked.  
Alenko spoke up. "Some of the crew are still upset over Jenkins, Commander."  
"Right." In all that had happened, Jenkins' death had been unceremoniously shunted into Shepard's 'bigger things to deal with' pile. "Not much to be done there. Let me know if anyone doesn't seem to be dealing with it."  
"Aye aye, sir."  
"Anything else?"  
"Well, there is one thing, Commander," Adams said thoughtfully.  
"Which is?"  
"You know that quarian, Tali? She's been spending all her time down in Engineering, asking about our engines."  
Shepard noticed Pressly giving Adams a displeased look. He filed that away for later. "That a problem?" he asked.  
"Problem?" Adams laughed. "Hell no! She's amazing! I wish my guys were half as smart as she is! Give her a month on board and she'll know more about our engines than I do."  
"Sounds good. So what _is_ the problem?"  
"Well, it just seems a shame to have a talent like that on board and not put it to good use." Adams shrugged. "I just didn't want to let her work on the Normandy's systems without clearing it with you first."

Shepard considered it for a moment. An alien being given access to the systems of the most advanced warship in the Alliance. The Brass would have a fit, for sure. Yet another one.

"Alright," he said. "If you think she'll be useful. Just don't let her do all of your team's work."  
"I'll try to keep her reined in, Commander. Could be tricky, though."  
"Pressly, what's your concern?"  
The ship's XO blinked in surprise. "Well, it's not just her, Commander. It's-" Pressly hesitated, then plunged on. "I'm not sure about having non-humans aboard our ship."

Pressly had placed himself between Alenko and Adams, which meant he was attracting stares from both sides.

Shepard kept his face passive. He wasn't surprised by this in the slightest. You didn't have to be Pressly's mother to realise he had... views on aliens. "Speak freely, Pressly," he said. "If anyone has issues with aliens, I want it out in the open."  
"It's not that, Commander," Pressly started.  
'_Yes it is,_' Shepard thought.  
"But Saren attacked one of _our_ colonies. We should be the ones going after him."  
"The first _human_ Spectre aboard _humanity's_ premier warship not good enough for you?" Shepard asked rhetorically.  
"I'm just saying, Commander... do we really need their help?"  
"No," Shepard admitted. "But they're willing and able, and I'd rather be called weak for accepting help then turning it down for the sake of pride."  
"I guess so," Pressly said grudgingly. "Maybe I'm just stuck in the old ways of thinking. Don't worry, Commander; this won't be a problem," he added firmly.  
"Good man," Shepard said. "Seeing as we mentioned it," he said, turning back to Adams. "How's the Normandy running?"  
"Better than I'd ever dreamed." Adams grinned like a child showing off his new favourite toy. "Say what you like about turians," he said, shooting a glance at Pressly, "but they know plenty about engineering starships. Still, there's a few kinks to be ironed out. Calibrating to be done, that sort of thing. Ideally, we'd like a few days in a shipyard to run a full drive core diagnostic-"  
"Yeah, that's not really an option," Shepard said. "Do what you can. As long as she can get us where we need to go, I'm happy. So if there's nothing else..." he raised an eyebrow questioningly.

The lieutenants shook their heads.  
"I'd like your opinions on where we should go first: Feros, or Artemis Tau."  
"Well, it's your decision, Commander. Spectre and all," Pressly pointed out.  
"True." Shepard said, folding his arms. "But I'll ask you to humour me. Well?"  
"Feros would get my vote, Commander," Pressly said. "One of our colonies is more important than some asari scientist."  
"But Doctor T'Soni might know something about Saren's plans," Alenko put in. "That is, if she is working with her mother."  
"And if she isn't?" Pressly asked heatedly. "And Artemis Tau is big, and a lot of it's uncharted. We could spend weeks poking around and never find her. How many more of our colonies could the geth turn into Eden Prime in that time?"  
"The Normandy's a fast ship," Adams pointed out. "We can cover the major systems in record time."  
"And if she's not _in_ the major systems? What then?" Pressly demanded.  
"She's a prothean expert, isn't she?" Alenko said. "If we narrow it down to just systems with recent prothean discoveries, that cuts our search time down by a fair margin."  
"And it's still long enough for another colony to be burnt to the ground-"

"Aaand stop," Shepard said, holding up a hand. "I agree with Pressly, one of our colonies _is_ more important. We go to Feros first, then worry about T'Soni. I can send a request to the Alliance to put out feelers in Artemis Tau, see if they can narrow down her location in the meantime. That sound good?"  
They nodded.  
"Good. While we're en-route to-"

"_Commander_?"  
Shepard looked up as Joker's voice came over the intercom. "Yes, Lieutenant?"  
"_Got a call from Arcturus – it's Admiral Hackett. He said you'd want to speak to him_."  
"Patch him through." Shepard turned back to the other officers. "Sorry, I need to cut this short. Pressly, I want a course through to Feros plotted ASAP. Carry on."

After they had left, Shepard stepped over to the comm display. The grizzled features of Admiral Steven Hackett faded into view.  
"Admiral."  
"_Commander._" Hackett nodded at him. "C_ongratulations are in order, I believe_."  
"I suppose," Shepard answered in a tone just short of disrespectful. "I would've appreciated a little forewarning, though."  
"_Yes, we got word of your little stunt_." Hackett's tone would have sounded like a rebuke to many, but Shepard recognised the slight edge of amused exasperation. "_No heart attacks among the diplomatic corps, though. Better luck next time._"  
Shepard nodded. "Permission to speak freely, sir?" he asked.  
"_Denied_."  
"Right. Okay." Shepard's frown deepened. "This is it, isn't it, sir? The real reason you had me reassigned to the Normandy."  
"_Partly. We needed a Spectre candidate and you were the obvious choice_."  
"And the other part?"  
"_We've spoken about this, Shepard._"  
"I didn't buy it then, and I'm not buying it now, sir."

Hackett's stony expression shifted into a frown that was almost a match for Shepard's own. "_Shepard, you've been running on constant deployments for more than two years. You've never taken leave for more than a week or so. I'm not going to sit here and watch you burn yourself out._"  
"I'm not burning out."  
"_The three years before that were hardly light duties, either_," Hackett went on implacably. _"Everyone needs downtime, sooner-"_  
"You're starting to sound like Anderson," Shepard said irritably. "I can handle it. Sir," he finished curtly.

Hackett sighed and looked away. Shepard continued to stare him down. For all that the Admiral was a genius in strategy, he could never seem to get it into his head that if Shepard _wanted_ a break, he'd take one.

Hackett looked back.  
"_It'll do you good to be working... in a more conventional fashion for a while, Shepard._"  
"I've achieved more in the last two years than the rest of my career put together," Shepard said. "Working solo suited me."  
"_I never said otherwise,_" Hackett replied. "_But you're a leader at heart, Shepard. And as I understand it, you've already gathered yourself an... interesting crew._"  
"That's one way to put it," Shepard said. "They almost put the old team to shame."  
Hackett was wearing the ghost of a smile now. "_I could organise a transfer for Chief Webb if you'd like._"  
Shepard couldn't quite keep his lip from curling up. Damn it. "Really?"  
_"No."_  
"Ah, well. I suppose I'll manage without," Shepard sighed, feigning heartbreak.  
_"I don't doubt it. He's doing well for himself, I think you'd be glad to know,_" Hackett said lightly. "_Got his team through a rough mission out in the Verge last month_." Hackett attempted a stern look, but couldn't quite wipe away the slight grin. "_Almost as bad as Dalnak, I understand_."

Shepard sighed. He just had to say it. Three years later, and he had to bring it up _again_.

"I took full responsibility for that, sir," Shepard reminded him, trying desperately not to smirk.  
"'_I didn't buy it then, and I'm not buying it now_'," Hackett quoted pointedly.  
"It was completely unavoidable, sir."  
"_The word 'indiscriminate' does leap to mind, Shepard. As do 'collateral' and 'damage'._"  
"It was only a _small_ landslide, sir."  
"_And an explosion visible from orbit_."  
Shepard shrugged. "If you want to make an omelette..." he said. "Still, it wasn't nearly as bad as the 'Kilo' incident."

It was worth it for the discomforted look on the Admiral's face.

"_We agreed to never speak of that again, Shepard_."  
"Three weeks, Admiral," Shepard said mildly. "_Three. Weeks._" He shrugged again. "I told you working solo suited me."

Hackett shook his head ruefully. Then he looked away and nodded to someone out of Shepard's sight.  
"_All right, I didn't call you to reminisce, Commander..."_

They spent a while discussing the minutiae of the Normandy's new status as an Alliance ship answering to a Council agent. Hackett didn't seem too concerned, but there was already an outcry over the Council 'confiscating' humanity's top-secret project. The Brass wanted the Alliance's best ship and crew working on some high profile assignments to fly the flag a little.

"_... and I appreciate you've got your hands full with Saren, but the Normandy would be very useful right now."_  
"Just send anything my way, sir. I'll let you know if I can handle it."  
_"Thank you, Shepard."_  
The Admiral looked away again and waved his hand impatiently at something.  
_"Anything else you need, Commander?"_  
"No, sir."  
_"Then I'll let you get on with it. Good hunting, Shepard. Hackett out."_

The Admiral's hologram faded out. Shepard exhaled.

Well, at least Hackett hadn't force-fed Shepard's earlier words over his reassignment to him. That was fortunate; they would probably had scalded his throat on the way down.

He spent a few minutes reading over the last of the intel reports before turning on his heel and walking out of the comm room.

Time to see to his crew.

* * *

The Normandy's sleeper pods were comfortable enough – if you had the approximate stature of a human. For two of the non-human crew-members, this wasn't a problem. Urdnot Wrex, on the other hand, couldn't have fit himself into one of the pods if he was liquidated beforehand. He had instead taken up residence in the cargo hold, sleeping slumped against one of the cargo containers. Staying down here also meant not weathering the nervous glances of the human crew. It was as if they'd never seen a krogan before. Which they probably hadn't. But he wasn't going to let that stop him from growling at everyone who walked by. It was fun.

Wrex turned his head slightly at the sound of a door sliding open. Shepard had emerged from engineering, walking over to the lockers and workbench that was the Normandy's armoury.

He hadn't told Shepard the whole truth when he'd offered to join up. Sure, the first human Spectre going up against a rogue turian and the geth sounded like a hell of a fight, but there was more to it. Not many people would stand their ground against a charging krogan – even the runt that had been Fist's bouncer. Even fewer would go on to survive the attempt. But he'd watched as Shepard had crippled and almost decapitated a krogan like it was second nature. Add to that that he was a Spectre in the first place and the stories that had come out of the Blitz and Shepard became very intriguing.

Shepard nodded to Wrex as he passed.  
"Wrex."  
"Shepard."

The Commander pulled his personal locker open and started rooting through it, taking out his weapons in turn and fiddling over each one with his omni-tool.  
"So, what's your story?" the human asked him as he swiftly disassembled his pistol.  
Wrex cast him a disdainful glance. "There's no story."

This was always the worst part of working with others: their insatiable need to know everyone personally. Apparently, most people needed to know every little detail about someone to trust them at their side in a fight. As long as they could be relied on to shoot straight and tell friend from foe, that should be enough.

"Go ask the quarian if you want a story."  
"I already did," Shepard replied coolly. "I got a nice long one about ships. Now I figure I'd like something with more explosions in it. And preferably shorter"  
His tone was flippant, but from his expression, it was clear Shepard wasn't going to let this drop.  
"There's nothing to tell."  
"A centuries-old krogan battlemaster doesn't have a story?" Shepard said sceptically. "I find that hard to believe."  
"If there is a story, it wouldn't be any different from your own," Wrex said gruffly. "Just longer."  
"That so?"  
"We're both warriors, Shepard." Wrex shrugged. "Fighting is what we do. I've just done more. A lot more."  
"And you still enjoy it?"  
Wrex laughed, a bitter chuckle. "That's what a warrior _is_, Shepard. Some just have the sense to fight for something more than that."  
"Like you?"  
Wrex didn't answer for a while. He unconsciously raised his hand and gently ran a finger down the gouge in his head plate.  
"No."  
Shepard seemed to accept this, concentrating on his pistol for a while.

"One story. It won't kill you."  
Seemed to, at least.  
"Well," Wrex said irritably. "There was this one time when the turians almost wiped out our entire race. That was fun."  
"The Krogan Rebellions." Shepard snapped his pistol's casing back into place. "A lot of people say the krogan got what they deserved, starting a pan-galactic war like that."  
Wrex turned his head to glare at the human. Shepard wasn't looking at him, apparently engrossed in the readouts on his omni-tool.  
"Do they?"  
"They do," Shepard said coolly, at odds with Wrex's own, dangerous, tone.  
"And what do you say?" Wrex challenged him.  
Shepard laid the pistol back down on the workbench and turned to look at him.  
"I say," he said slowly, "that I wasn't there. I don't know enough to make an informed decision," he added loftily.  
Wrex snorted. "Trying not to offend me, human?"  
"Oh no," Shepard said, picking his pistol back up. "I never try not to offend anyone."  
Wrex grunted and turned away.

"So, what can you tell me about the Genophage?" Shepard asked after a moment. "All I know is that it stopped the krogan in their tracks."

"If you want details, go ask the salarians. They made it," Wrex said. "All _I_ know is that it's a genetic mutation that makes breeding nearly impossible, that every krogan is infected and that no one is rushing to find a cure."  
"It's been a thousand years," Shepard said. "Haven't the krogan been trying to find one?"  
"Of course," Wrex said flatly. "Every krogan scientist for the last thousand years has been working-"  
"Let me guess," Shepard interrupted him. "All none of them?"  
Wrex chuckled darkly. "You read my mind, Shepard." He heard his own voice turn increasingly bitter as he went on. "You ask any krogan, would you rather stop and think or fight for credits, and he'll choose fighting. Every time."  
Wrex turned to look at Shepard. The human had stopped working on his pistol and was regarding him with an unreadable expression. He looked away again.  
"It's just who we are, Shepard. I can't change that. No-one can."

He was grateful when Shepard didn't question him further, instead returning to his weapon, reassembling it with practised ease. He hadn't thought about these things in a long time, not since... well. A long time.

He turned back to Shepard as the human placed his pistol back in his locker.  
"So, you going to give me your story now, Shepard?"  
Shepard slammed his locker shut and leant against it. "Joined the military, started fighting, found I was good at it," he said flatly. "Made special forces, did well, ended up here. Watch this space."  
Shepard pushed himself off the locker.  
"So long, Wrex."

* * *

Shepard left Wrex slouched against the container, ignoring the krogan's glare on the back of his neck.

He noticed Vakarian giving the Normandy's embarked ground vehicle a look-over. He walked over to join him.

"Seen something you like?" he asked.  
Vakarian nodded at him. "What can I say? It's more interesting than staring at the walls. What is it?"  
"M35 Mako IFV," Shepard said. "Great piece of kit. Hope we get a chance to use it." He frowned. "She's brand new, though, built specially for the Normandy. We were supposed to be giving her a test-drive on shakedown. Fat chance of that now. Just have to hope the manufacturer didn't leave in any calibration errors."  
Vakarian scratched his chin thoughtfully, then gestured to the vehicle. "May I?" he asked.  
Shepard glanced at him. "You know how to work one of these?"  
"Not yet." Vakarian shrugged. "But if we're inside this and start getting shot at, I'd rather be sure the guns hit what we aim them at."  
Shepard considered. Yet another thing for the Brass to rail at him for. Fuck it. The hole he was digging for himself was so deep, his only hope was to keep digging until he dropped out the bottom.  
"Feel free, if it keeps you busy," he told the turian. "Here, let me open her up..."

He stepped over to the Mako and popped the hatch, before clambering into the cramped interior. As he edged over to the vehicle commander's seat, he heard a thump and a muffled turian curse from behind him. He smirked to himself.  
"Here," he said, retrieving an OSD from a receptacle and tossing it at Vakarian. "Manual. Knock yourself out."  
"Thanks, Commander. And thanks for bringing me on board. Working with a Spectre has to be better than life at C-Sec," Vakarian said bitterly.  
Shepard dropped himself into the driver's seat. "You weren't happy at C-Sec?" he asked.  
"It started out okay," Vakarian admitted as he managed to seat himself in the commander's position. "But as I rose in ranks, I got saddled with more and more red tape." The familiar orange glow of an omni-tool lit up the interior as Vakarian started looking over the Mako's manual. "That's not a problem for you, though," he said. "Spectres make their own rules; you're free to get the job done any way you like."  
Shepard shook his head. "If only," he said. "I'm the first human Spectre, remember? They're just hoping for something to pull me up on, just to keep us down for a while longer."  
"Maybe," Vakarian said. "But I'd think you'd be surprised at how much Spectres are allowed to get away with. Look at Saren; look at how much it took for the Council to turn on him."  
"I'm hardly the Council's top agent, though."  
"Even so."

Shepard nodded slowly.

"So is that why you quit? Red tape and regulations?" he asked.  
"There was more to it than that," Vakarian said as he looked around the cabin. "Where's the diagnostics unit?" he asked.  
"On your left, just above the comms panel," Shepard replied distantly as he ran a hand over the driving controls.  
"I told you before," Vakarian went on as he raised a hand and started up the vehicle's diagnostics routine. "I want to actually be there when Saren gets what's coming to him. Too often with C-Sec, you'd follow up on a lead, put together your intel package, pass it on and... nothing. No closure. It'd be nice to see something through to the end for a change."  
"I can understand that," Shepard said.  
"And without C-Sec looking over my shoulder at every step, maybe I can get things done my way for a change."  
Shepard glanced at him sharply. "_Your_ way?" he said pointedly. "Whose ship is this?"  
Vakarian looked back at him nervously. "Uh, I didn't-"  
"Oh, relax." Shepard waved a hand at him. "I know what you meant. As long as you're not planning on second-guessing every damn thing I do, I'm not worried."  
"I'll bear that in mind."  
Shepard heaved himself out of the driver's seat, stepping back towards the hatch. "I'll let you get on. Let me know if you need anything, Vakarian, okay?"  
"Understood. And just 'Garrus' is fine, Commander."  
"Right you are, Garrus," Shepard said, thumping the headrest of the turian's seat. "I'll see you later. Have fun."  
As he lowered himself out of the hatch, he stuck his head back through to say, "oh, and try not to blow any holes in my ship with those guns."  
"No promises," he heard Garrus say before the hatch slammed shut.

* * *

**A/N:** Here, have a chapter. I'm not happy with it, but I've realised I'm never going to be happy with anything I write, ever. So fuck it.


End file.
